A Peculiar Love Triangle
by Joyce LaKee
Summary: John Meredith meets a mysterious vacationer to Glen St. Mary, but someone else is interested too. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

I do not own the Anne of Green Gables characters or stories, they are the property of the estate of L. M. Montgomery. This story is only for fun, and I don't get any compensation for it.

Marybeth was about to drop her bag in the mud when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Can I help you with those bags?" Marybeth looked up to see a tall, pleasant looking man looking down at her. She recognized him as her neighbor, across the road and up the hill a little ways. Their children played together. She smiled at him.

"That would be wonderful, thank you." She nudged the heaviest bags at him and he lifted them with ease. Then she gracefully lowered herself to her little daughter's height and comforted the crying child. She had lost half her candies in the mud puddle, but, as Marybeth pointed out to her, she still had half left. She did the best she could to clean the mud off her daughter's face with a handkerchief, then sighed and stood up and looked at the man smiling at her so kindly. Jomishie was still sniffling

"Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. Mud puddles and bags of candies just dont mix. Especially in the hands of a seven year old."

"You're welcome, ma'am. No, that's okay, we're walking in the same direction, " he said when she tried to take her bags back. Marybeth took the child's hand, instead.

"I guess I shouldn't have tried to walk to the store with just Jomishie, but it was such a beautiful day. I guess I just threw caution to the winds." She laughed.

"Well, maybe this can make up a little for my earlier rudeness" Marybeth looked at him questioningly. The man continued. "I should have visited you earlier to welcome you to the neighborhood. But," he paused, embarrassed "I must confess I allowed other matters to take my attention away from my neighborly duties. My name is Mr. Meredith."

"I suppose I can forgive you, " Marybeth said, laughing. "My name is Mrs Hamilton, and I'm sure you know our children are already well aquainted. They just love playing with your children down at Rainbow Valley with the Blythes. They just have the most fun. My children have never known any Manse children before, and your children are so friendly and well-mannered, I enjoy having them in for cookies when they come looking for my children."

John Meredith glowed under the praise of his children. He also enjoyed listening to Mrs. Hamilton's voice, with it's delicate Southern accent. American southerners rarely vacationed this far north. He seemed to remember hearing that she was an aquaintance of Mrs. Blythe, that the two had met somehow and struck up a correspondence. She also had a friendly, vivacious air. But everyone knew Southern ladies were like that.

Mrs. Hamilton asked him a little about himself and he found himself telling her about the children, how much he liked Glen St. Mary and even a little about Cecilia. She understood. She told him how she had been a widow these past several years, how her husband had had a law practice in Atlanta, but they had decided to try their hand at homesteading and had a farm in Wisconsin. Her older boys were working the farm this summer, learning to help their manager and that they had hired some hands to help. Mr. Meredith didn't know a lot about farming, but he concluded that it must be a prosperous farm if Mrs. Hamilton could afford a manager, farm hands, and to keep her younger children with her in Canada for the summer. Not that he would ever ask. That would be rude.

They walked quietly for a while when Mrs. Hamilton asked him, "What's that book you're reading?"

"Oh, this. Writings of St. Augustine."

Mrs. Hamilton nodded. They continued to walk, and she had a little frown on her face. Mr. Meredith didn't expect a reply, and his mind was drifting away from the subject when suddently Mrs. Hamilton spoke.

"When he wrote about the properties of time--that there was no time as we know it before God created the world--you could probably explain it better than me, but you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, I had the most difficult time understanding that passage. But you know?" She paused and turned to look at him. "Sometimes, when I'm outside at night, and look at the endless stars, and everything is quiet...I almost start to comprehend..." She turned and and started walking again.

Mr. Meredith was stunned. The ladies of his aquaintance, good and worthy women that they were, generally had their heads full of domestic matters, the price of eggs, the best remedies for children's coughs. Even his Cecilia had never read his theological books, and she had a fine mind. But here was Mrs. Hamilton discussing Augustine as casually as one might discuss weeding the garden. And she wasn't showing off. She admitted her difficulties in understanding the passage. It would be pleasant to have an intellectual person to talk to. He thought quickly.

"Mrs. Hamilton, I have a book of commentaries of his writings. Would you like to borrow it?"

She flashed him dazzling smile. "Why thank you. I'd love to read it."

He saw her off at her gate and handed the bags back to her.

"Jomishie, say good-bye to Mr. Meredith."

"G'bye"

Mr. Meredith smiled at the little girl, who turned to run off. When she was out of

earshot, he gave an inquiring look to the mother.

"What an unusual name. Where did you hear it?"

Mrs. Hamilton laughed. " That's not her real name. Her real name is Joanna-Michelle, but when she was born, her brother, Henry, couldn't say it. He called her Jomishie, and she's been Jomishie ever since."

She smiled at him and turned and walked towards the door. Mr. Meredith watched her for a moment before he headed up the road to his own house. He was definitely pleased about his new neighbor. And he would send that commentary to her house before the day was out.


	2. Chapter 2

LM Montgomery still owns Anne of Green Gables

Marybeth received the promised commentary and read it whenever she had a few moments to spare. Miss Cornelia raised her eyebrow when she saw the book and Marybeth told her she had it of the minister, but said nothing. As Marybeth read, she thought of some points she wanted to bring up with Mr. Meredith when she saw him, but realized that her questions were becoming more numerous. She started to keep a notebook and pencil with her to write her questions and comments down.

Marybeth's chores kept her busy, even with the help of her housekeeper, Lanie. Laundry, cooking and cleaning was a full time chore, along with the gardening Marybeth had wanted to do. Also, she insisted that she spend at least an hour a day with her family. She and Lanie would rotate the chores, so that neither of them were stuck in the house all day.

For the next couple of days she didn't see Mr. Meredith to talk to, although she saw him once in his own yard, and another time walking along the road. He seemed to be sleepwalking, absorbed in some entrancing thought of his own, and almost passed her yard before remembering to smile and wave. Marybeth waved back, amused. The stories of his absentmindedness were already legendary. She was amazed that he even remembered to send her the book. She went back to her gardening.

Jomishie brought her mother down to Rainbow Valley to show it to her once. Marybeth was entranced. She loved the wildflowers, the little bubbling spring. There were even a couple of decaying old stone walls one could sit on if they were tired. Marybeth had never had anything so wild to play in when she was a child. The little town where she had grown up was lovely, but there were no feral places like this. She felt justified in feeling a little envious.

Marybeth was also feeling a little restless. She decided to go a-visiting, and decided Anne was the one to see. Marybeth brought a little jar of peach jam she had brought all the way from Georgia and marched up to the Blythe's door.

"Marybeth! How good to see you. Do come inside. Did you bring that for us?"

"Anne, please forgive this intrusion, but I thought I would go crazy in that house. Don't mind if I do sit down."

They spoke like this even though they had fallen into a pattern of visiting two or three times a week.

Marybeth sat down and sighed. "I don't know, Anne, I just felt so restless. I had to get out and walk around a while."

"Sometimes summer days just do that to you. Not to make you feel guilty, but how is your garden coming along?"

"Not bad, for starting so late in the season. Thank you for the cuttings you sent over."

Conversation went on in this vein until Miss Cornelia joined them, a new needlework in her hand. The women admired her new project, and the three women had a lively, if mundane afternoon of conversation. Marybeth left first, because she wanted to help Lanie start dinner. When she was well out of earshot, Miss Cornelia looked straight at Anne and asked the question she was dying to ask.

"What is going on with Marybeth and John Meredith?"

Anne was a little shocked. Cornelia knew she didn't like gossip, but it must have been on her mind. She hesitated before she replied, "What makes you think there's anything between them?"

"Anne, dear, he lent her that book of commentaries. And she's reading it!"

Anne laughed a little. "That doesn't make for a grand romance."

Miss Cornelia only looked at her.


	3. Chapter 3

LM Montgomery still owns Anne of Green Gables

The children had been put to bed, but Marybeth's restless mood was still with her. With a word to Lanie, she slipped out the back door and wandered restlessly in the back garden. In the last couple years, she had been subject to these restless moods, but thankfully, they were infrequent and never lasted long. She paced a little, then fled down the garden path and found her way to Rainbow Valley. She stopped at the little stone dyke and perched herself on it, looking up at the black, starry sky. Then suddenly, she stood up, took a few steps forward where the ground was level and started to croon a little song to herself, quietly. She started to sway, waving her arms in rhythmic fashion, and started to dance slowly. As she danced, she felt some of the tension draining from her body, and the movement did her good. She swayed, tried intricate steps, and twirled.

All of a sudden, she sensed she was not alone. Without breaking her dance, she turned slowly to look at a man who had stepped into the clearing and was now looking at her as if unsure to be amused or alarmed.

Even in her strange mood, Marybeth was abashed at being caught in such a ridiculous position, but she had seen this man before and knew his reputation. If she were to show embarrassment, he was the type of man who would never let her forget it. Not the sort to tell tales out of school, but the impudent sort who would grin at her everytime he saw her and enjoy her blushes. Also, their properties shared a common boundary, and avoiding him all summer was out of the question. Marybeth would brazen it out.

"Good evening, Mr. Douglass," she said, dropping a graceful curtsey before resuming her dancing. This little corner of the meadow is for dancing. Not for spectating. I'll thank you to respect that."

The man looked at her a little helplessly. Here was this little woman ordering him around as if she owned the place! Yet, he couldn't help but admire her style. Marybeth turned and he was still standing there, but she was gratified that he seemed a little unsure of himself. She sighed and advanced towards him, her hand extended. When he took her hand, she curtsied again.

"I'm Mrs. Hamilton, how do you do?"

He bowed slightly. "Very well, madame. Somehow, you already know my name."

She smiled and walked backward a few paces, drawing him along. She started crooning again, and swaying. She had a sweet little voice, if a little shaky, and they danced with their one pair of hands clasped, the other hands free. He followed her lead, trying to follow her footsteps as she twirled and turned. He was nowhere near as graceful as she was. She stopped singing and spoke to him.

"Never mind my feet. Honestly. If you dance with a woman, you have to look into her eyes. Don't look at her feet. Look at me!" She commanded.

He didn't dare disobey. She was right. When he looked into her eyes, he could follow the movements of her feet easily. As strange as all this was, he was starting to enjoy himself. He took her other hand to twirl her and deftly placed his right arm firmly around her waist and waltzed her around the hollow. Marybeth's only reaction was to croon a waltz for them to keep time to.

When her tune was finished, she stepped back and curtsied again. She let go his hand, turned and went to perch herself on the stone dyke. He followed and sat a little ways down from her.

"What brings you out here on a night like tonight?" She asked him.

Mr. Douglass was unsure whether to feel amused or annoyed at her take charge attitude. After all, he'd been living here his whole life. She only moved here a few weeks ago.

"I should ask you that."

"Too bad. I asked first."

Mr. Douglass wanted to laugh. She was so impertinent, but, when he looked into her eyes, there was no hostility there, only merriment. She leaned back on her hands and tipped her face to look at the sky.

"Well?"

"If you must know, Mrs. Hamilton, I occasionally like to walk down this way when it's quiet and dark. Very peaceful. But, I must say, it was neither quiet nor peaceful tonight." He tried to make it sound like a reproach, but she only laughed.

"I understand. I came down here to find some peace myself. Then, with the warm breeze blowing, I just simply had to dance. I guess we all look for something different." That last part was said quietly.

Mr. Douglass looked at her, startled. He had expected another impertinent answer. She was starting to make him dizzy. He asked the question he had wondered about since she had started dancing with him.

"How did you know who I am?"

Mrs. Hamilton laughed a little. "I happen to be personal friends with Anne Blythe and Miss Cornelia. They told me who lived on your farm. Then, I've seen you out in your fields when I've gone down to do my marketing."

Mr. Douglass laughed a lot. "Did Miss Cornelia tell you what an old reprobate I am?" He laughed harder when Mrs. Hamilton only grinned.

"Mrs. Blythe likes you."

"I'll give you a month, then you can tell me your own opinion."

"Well, Mr. Douglass, maybe I won't want to hear your opinion of me." She slid off off the dyke and started heading up the hill towards her home. Over her shoulder she called, "Farewell!"

He watched her leave before heading back to his own house.


	4. Chapter 4

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Lanie, the housekeeper, was pregnant, and it was on a Saturday in late June when her grandmother was due to arrive in Glen St. Mary by train. Lanie's husband, Bert, drove the wagon and Marybeth rode with him to meet her. Despite Lanie's and Marybeth's misgivings about the strain of the arduous trip on the elderly woman, she insisted on being there for the birth even though Dr. Blythe was Lanie's doctor while they were living in Canada. Lanie's grandmother had practiced midwifery ever since her days as a slave on a Georgia plantation and was not about to leave Lanie in the hands of a doctor half her own age.

On they drove, past the manse, past Ingleside, past the meadows and farms that composed the outlying properties of the Glen. Marybeth felt chilly as she rode in the breeze. She was still in the habit of thinking about June as a hot, sticky month even though it had been several years since she and her husband had left Atlanta, and it only felt like spring to her. She could imagine what it would seem like to Lanie's grandmother, who had lived down South all her life.

Marybeth and Bert had only a brief wait until the train arrived, and Marybeth watched as the door opened and Lanie's grandmother appeared descending the steps. Bert strode forward to offer his arm to her on the last stair. She accepted his assistance with the dignity of a queen, and then let go his arm when her own two feet were on the platform. She hugged and kissed him as Marybeth approached the pair, then she turned to Marybeth.

"Miz Marybeth," She said, extending her hand.

"Dilcey," Marybeth replied, shaking her outstretched hand, "It's good to see you."

Even at Dilcey's advanced age, Marybeth had to look up to see into her face. She had not lost any of her dignified manner and Marybeth had always held her in awe. She didn't know how old Dilcey was, and Dilcey didn't tell. But she had been old when Marybeth first met her over 20 years before.

Dilcey and her luggage were brought to the house and Lanie was overjoyed to see her grandmother again. Dilcey greeted the children as Marybeth and Lanie brought out tea and cakes and the three women settled in to talk as soon as Marybeth sent them off to play.

"Just another few weeks, Lanie," Dilcey said and Lanie nodded. "You tired?"

"Of course, Grandma," Lanie replied.

"You don't overdo?"

"Really, Dilcey, as if I would let her," Marybeth said reproachfully.

Dilcey raised her eyebrow at Marybeth, who gave her look for look.

"This is real nice country up here. The air is so crisp. And you can hear the ocean roar," Dilcey said.

Marybeth and Lanie looked at each other and grinned. "When we first came up here, " Lanie said, " I couldn't hear myself think for that noise. Now, we never hear it at all. Just wait 'til tonight when you try to sleep, Grandma. Then we'll see how much you like it."

"Don't sass your elders, Lanie," Said Dilcey sternly. Then she turned to Marybeth. "You're greatly missed in Atlanta, Miz Marybeth."

"I know the children are welcome back, Dilcey..."

"Not just the children, Miz Marybeth--you are missed."

Marybeth grimaced and looked at her hands. "Dilcey..."

"You don't believe me? Just mention the word that you're coming back and just see how many friends you have. Folks miss you."

Marybeth said, "That may have been true at one time, but things change."

Dilcey sighed heavily. "If you mean that trouble all those years ago, you're crazy. People haven't forgot, mind you--people love a juicy story. But if you think that's any reason to stay away, you're crazy. You think you're the only one who ever got in trouble---I could tell you stories. And you know how our grapevine is. Why, your own mother-in-law... No, Marybeth, you can take your place in Atlanta society any time you want."

"But that's the whole problem, Dilcey. I don't have a place in society. My late husband had a place. I was just his wife. I was an outsider when I married him, and I'll always be an outsider."

"Well, maybe that's why people are more willing to forgive you. And anyway, you may be an outsider, but folks do miss you. Just think about it."

Later that night, the household was asleep and Marybeth was restless once more. She needed out, but she didn't want to go into Rainbow Valley and risk meeting with Mr. Douglass again. He made her laugh, but his demeanor was too acerbic for her to be able to manage in the mood she was in right now. Instead, she put on her shawl and headed out the front door and scrambled onto the decaying stone wall in the front of her property, facing the road. She stared at the moon for a moment, and then glanced at the darkened houses around her. The manse and Ingleside were pitch black, full of people sleeping comfortably. Marybeth envied them, wishing she could calm her jangled nerves and sleep. Dilcey could have that effect on her, even now. Marybeth lost herself in memories...

Dilcey had been Marybeth's rock when she was first married and trying to navigate her way in an unfamiliar world. Marybeth had grown up in a comfortable, bourgeois family, but the Brodies were by no means rich. Marybeth's mother had a "girl" who came every day to help with the housework, but that was the extent of Marybeth's experience with servants. Her husband, who had been born on a plantation during the War Between the States, had lived with slaves, then servants, all his life. Although his family, like many others of his social class, descended into genteel poverty during the years immediately following the War, his family, like many others, had put their energy into rebuilding what was lost. By the time Marybeth had married him, his family had rebuilt their wealth, and in the transition, their former slaves were now paid employees.

Dilcey was an intelligent woman and had studied closely the manners and mores of the people she worked for. And, because Marybeth had grown up without learning the social distinctions between employer and employee, she was unselfconscious about asking for Dilcey's guidance. Dilcey freely shared all she knew with the young woman because Dilcey liked her unpretentious attitude, and wanted to see her succeed.

Looking back now, Marybeth could see how the pieces of her life in Atlanta fit together like a puzzle. Marybeth had been an outsider. She had moved to Atlanta looking for work, and not only had she succeeded in finding a job, she had also found kindly patrons in a childless elderly couple. In order to retain their kind opinion of her, Marybeth had decided to tell a lie. At the time she told it, she had only wanted to keep her job, but as lies tend to do, it grew out of her control. Her lie opened doors for her, made her new friends and finally landed her a rich husband.

Her husband was by rights an insider, but he was, through no fault of his own, a misfit. Wade Hamilton belonged to the best families in Georgia, but his father had died, his mother had seemingly made a career out of displaying increasingly outrageous behavior, and his stepfather had always been in the middle of some controversy or other. Wade himself had not had a forceful enough personality to overcome these obstacles. He was a decent man, a straight arrow, but he was also shy and retiring, allowing forces outside his control to carry him along. The only exception to this was in the courtroom. He was a skilled attorney, and his reputation grew favorably over the years. Socially, he was never in a leading roll, but he was a good, solid supporting player.

Marybeth now realized that she would never have been allowed to marry one of the major luminaries in Atlanta society. But she was good enough for Wade. Of course, this realization hadn't come to her until she had been married for many years. But it didn't matter because she hadn't married him for money or position. She married him because she loved him, and he loved her, and they were happy together for many years, until one day.

Marybeth had always carried an undercurrent of uneasiness during the years she lived in Atlanta. Every success, every triumph, had been tainted by her guilt over the lie she had told so many years ago. One fateful day, however, it had all come to a head...

Marybeth was jolted out of her reverie when a branch cracked nearby her. She gave a little shriek as she saw a man walking towards her. Her shriek startled the man, who saw her and removed his hat.

"Holy cow, Mr. Meredith," Marybeth gasped, shaking. "Don't you keep civilized hours?" She climbed carefully down from the wall and stood there, peering at him in the dark.

"I was coming from a sick call, Mrs. Hamilton. I beg your pardon for frightening you." Mr. Meredith sounded weary, and Marybeth felt guilty for taking him to task.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Meredith. How is the patient?"

"He passed on, I'm afraid. Dr. Blythe did everything he could, but Zachariah Drew was in his 90's." He sighed heavily, and then looked at her, as if for the first time. "What drove you out of your comfortable house in the middle of the night?"

Marybeth frowned and reached out to pick at a piece of moss on the stone wall. "My mind was full of troubling thoughts," she said, quietly. "I guess you can't reach a certain age without having some regretful memories. Mine just caught me up tonight." She looked over the stone wall towards her home.

John Meredith studied her face a moment. A widow with a large family was bound to have things to drive her out of bed in the middle of the night, but this had the feeling of guilt about it. He turned away from her and looked at his own house for a few minutes to think.

"Did you make amends for what you did?" He asked, still not looking at her.

She looked at him, startled. "Yes, but how did you--"

"I've been doing this a long time. Did you repent and reconcile yourself with God?"

She nodded.

"Did the person you sinned against forgive you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He sighed and said to her, "Then, it sounds like you have had a long habit of punishing yourself over your sins. Now, you need to replace that habit with one of forgetting. Of course, if there is any reparation that still needs to be done you must attend to it, but as for the rest, you must forget."

"But that's just it--how do I know that all my reparation has been done? I still wonder if there is anybody who was affected by it, and if I should go and make it right."

"That may be your problem--you keep looking for a problem to fix. That's the way you keep your guilt current in your mind. Give this problem to the Lord, and trust that if there is anything further to be done, it will make itself obvious. Somebody will bring themself to your attention, without you going after them." When she stood silently for a moment, he spoke again, "I'm not the first clergyman you've told this to, am I?"

She shook her head.

"Sometimes people come to us over and over with the same problem. May I pray with you to take this burden away from you?"

Marybeth was shocked, but she nodded weakly and clasped her hands together as he prayed for her. When he was done, he smiled tiredly at her and said to her, "Now you have permission to forget your sin. 'Forget the things which are behind, and stretch forward to the things which are before'. That's in Philippians, Mrs. Hamilton."

Marybeth was able to give Mr. Meredith a genuine smile. "You're a good preacher, reverend. And I'm afraid I've taken up too much of your time. You must be exhausted."

"It comes with the job, Mrs. Hamilton. Good night." With that he left her.

He was right of course. Her regular confessor had told her that more than once and she agreed with him in her head. But between Dilcey's practical advice and Mr. Meredith's spiritual advice it finally dawned on her that brooding over her past mistakes was a type of reveling in her sin, a type of pride and a mistrust in God. Forgetting was what she was instructed to do, and forgetting was what she was going to do.


	5. Chapter 5

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Marybeth had Bert take some fried chicken and biscuits to the Drew family, with her condolences and a promise to make a neighborly call. That took half the morning, and by the time the house was straightened and in order, to take a break.

Marybeth was playing with Jomishie and Henry in her yard when Rilla and Shirley Blythe joined them, and Carl from the Manse. The older children had found other entertainment, and the young ones were at loose ends. The boys decided on a made up a game of playing "knights" and were tearing through the grounds with wooden swords and sheilds, and any kind of helmet at all. Jomishie and Rilla had decided to be wood-sprites, and Marybeth made flower crowns for them. Being in a rather whimsical mood, she took the leftover wildflowers and made a crown for herself, then sat down to read the book from Mr. Meredith. She had grown so accustomed to hearing the yelling from the children that she didn't look up until she heard a different kind of shriek. Henry was limping towards her, bleeding from a gash in his knee, and the girls had decided that mass hysteria was the best way to deal with the situation.

Marybeth motioned Henry to the nearest chair and sent Jomishie to Lanie for the bandages. Lanie herself came outside with the basin of water and a sliver of soap, and Jomishie trailed behind with the bandages Lanie had given her to carry.

The children watched with gruesome facination while Marybeth cleaned and dressed the wound. The wound was bigger than Marybeth had thought at first and she cleaned it carefully. Hopefully there would be no need to consult Dr. Blythe. She would have to watch it carefully over the next few days.

The girls had stopped sobbing and Marybeth made Henry sit and rest, much to his dismay, but the boys decided to play checkers instead, winner playing the odd man out. The girls had run off again, and Marybeth picked up her book and resumed reading. The summer heat was making her pleasantly tired, and she was having to read sentences more than once. She sat back and simply let the passages she had read play through her mind.

Another shriek snapped her out of her reverie, and thinking it was another injury, she tucked her notes into the book and ran from the garden through the front gate where she had heard the sound. She almost ran into Mr. Meredith, who was standing with Dr. Blythe. Apparantly, both men had walked up from the village when Rilla saw her father. She was hanging on him happily.

Marybeth caught her breath and placed her hand over her heart. "Well, thank goodness nobody else is hurt! " She paused and took a deep breath. "My Henry skinned his knee pretty badly about an hour ago," she explained to Dr. Blythe.

Dr. Blythe looked concerned. "Would you like me to take a look at it?"

Marybeth considered. "Well, as long as you're here, and if you're sure it's no bother?"

"Of course not. Let's take a look."

Marybeth led the men to the garden, oblivious to the amused glance they had given each other. Dr. Blythe examined Henry's leg and prescribed a salve to put on it. He would have someone bring it up from his office. He left, grinning to himself. It was funny that Mrs. Hamilton could be so scatterbrained.

Marybeth walked with Mr. Meredith to the garden gate, and showed him how she was more than halfway finished. He kept giving her funny looks, glancing at her head, at the same time valiantly trying to keep a straight face. Marybeth touched her head, blushed deeply and tried to gracefully sweep the wreath from her head, but it caught in her hair and she gave a little gasping yelp and blushed even more deeply. She looked down to avoid his eyes and fumbled with the wreath, but in her embarrassment she only made it worse. She wanted to disappear through the stones of the terrace, but she felt his hand over her own.

"Allow me," she heard him murmur. She still couldn't look him in the face, but she saw him move closer and felt him gently untangle her hair from the wreath. She was grateful she didn't have to look him in the face, because she found she was blushing again. He was taking his time, not rushing, carefully removing the stems and leaves. She had composed her face along more placid lines by the time he had finished, and was able to look at him as he handed the wreath to her. Was there a trace of a blush on his face? It was probably just the late afternoon light playing tricks with her eyes. He smiled shyly at her and quietly bade her goodbye as he summoned Carl to come home to get ready for supper. She made the excuse of having to help Lanie in the kitchen to make her escape.


	6. Chapter 6

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Marybeth and Anne sat on Miss Cornelia's porch sewing on an overcast afternoon which threatened rain, but never delivered. The children were supposed to be playing something in Rainbow Valley, and she assigned her daughter Anna to minding Jomishie and she knew that Una was there keeping Anna company and Rilla Blythe was there, playing with Jomishie. Marybeth was pleased with the friendship that had formed between her shy, little Anna and shy little Una. At least, she didn't have to worry about them getting into trouble. However, trouble could take more than one form.

Miss Cornelia had taken a break from her needlework to fan herself in the heat, but Marybeth felt quite comfortable, and Anne never seemed to break a sweat.

Miss Cornelia and Marybeth had a cordial relationship, and neither would have hesitated to come to each others' aid, just like good neighbors would be expected to do. However, each secretly thought that they would not have sought each other out for friendship if fate had not caused them to be neighbors and mutual friends of Anne Blythe. Marybeth thought Miss Cornelia was an admirable, independent-minded woman with her own style. Miss Cornelia admired the way Marybeth ran her house and managed her children. However there was some barrier between them that neither tried to breach. They were content to be just good neighbors.

Miss Cornelia had watched Marybeth closely ever since she moved in. The incident with Mr. Meredith's commentary was still on her mind and she had not failed to notice that Marybeth had never attended church except for the Drew funeral. However, she was certain that Marybeth didn't attend the Methodist church, either. Miss Cornelia was determined to defer her judgement. Anne was no help, either. Miss Cornelia felt that Anne knew more about Marybeth than she wanted to divulge, and while Miss Cornelia could respect Anne's scruples about gossip, how else could Miss Cornelia decide what she thought about Marybeth?

"This pound cake was delicious, Miss Cornelia," Marybeth said, as she wiped her hands on a napkin before returing to her sewing. "The blackberries on topmade it something special."

Miss Cornelia couldn't help puffing up a little with pride. "Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. The berries were from my very own bushes." She gave Marybeth a genuine smile. Whatever else she might be, Marybeth had impeccable manners.

Anne looked up, about to say something, when a sudden commotion in the yard drew their attention. The women looked up to see Una, Anna, Rilla and Jomishie scampering up the walk, all flushed and upset.

"Go ahead, ask," the girls were saying to Anna.

Anna shuffled up the walk, with the other girls behind her. When she got to Marybeth, she paused and looked down at her feet.

"Mama," Anna asked, timidly. She shuffled her feet, looked back at the girls, and continued, "Mama, the boys were playing at pirates. Then they had a duel." Anna paused before she continued, in a rush, "Then Una said there were no such things as duels anymore but I said there was so because Father had been in one, and I know this because I heard the older kids talking one day and isn't it true?" Anna stopped and took a deep breath.

Marybeth remained outwardly calm, but she dug her nails into her hand as the answer she rehearsed in her head in case of such an emergency came into her mind.

"Girls, " Marybeth said in a low voice," Dueling is an ugly thing. It is a fight to injury--or worse. It sounds very exciting in romantic when it's read of in a storybook, but in real life, it is horrible. Now. Go play something else."

The girls walked off reluctantly, their question unanswered. Marybeth looked up from her sewing to see both women looking at her. Anne's eyes were pitying, Cornelia's curious. Marybeth looked directly at Miss Cornelia, but couldn't stop blushing as she said, "My late husband defended my honor after it had been impugned. There was nothing romantic about it."

Miss Cornelia nodded, but said nothing as she resumed her sewing.

Later that night, as Marybeth tucked her into bed, Anna asked her mother again, if Father had been in a duel. Marybeth answered, "Yes, he was. However, that whole episode was a very sad one in our family. It's better if we don't talk about it again."


	7. Chapter 7

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Marybeth enjoyed doing her marketing in town. The walk during these balmy summer months was picturesque, and she was learning the names of some of the people who lived in the town. Her older sons would run off with the older Blythes and Merediths as soon as their chores were over, and she would not see them again until meal-times. They were becoming locally famous for their exploits, and they knew most of the people in the town, or so it seemed. Henry and Jomishie stayed closer to home. Her Anna, at 11 years old, had told her that Una was her "Best Canadian Friend." They took turns playing at each other's houses or down in Rainbow Valley. Marybeth realized that this was the first summer Anna hadn't spent most of her time shadowing her. She missed the girl, but was glad she found a playmate.

Anne Blythe walked into town with her on this day. Marybeth enjoyed Anne's company more than probably any other of her friends. Anne had such a poetic way of thinking and talking that Marybeth would never be able to copy. She herself was so energetic and straightforward, like a hummingbird in constant motion that Anne's dreaminess was like a balm to her. Anne, on the other hand enjoyed Marybeth's energy and charm. It was especially amusing to watch her on market day. Marybeth was a widow, and conducted herself with a certain dignity, but her Southern background sometimes got the best of the situation. She was an inveterate charmer, and although no one could precisely call her a flirt, she had a natural, unaffected way of tilting her head and looking up at a man through her lashes that disconcerted the shopkeepers who were lucky (or unlucky) enough to have her as a customer. Somehow, in her presence, hard to find merchandise would find its way out of stockrooms, friendly advice about the best sale prices would be forthcoming, and the freshest produce and meats would become available.

Naturally, Marybeth would declare herself ever so grateful for their kindness, and the clerk would feel especially gallant. Anne was a second hand beneficiary of this by-play, as well as an amused spectator.

They trudged up the hill on the way back from town. Naturally, that was the least enjoyable part of the trip, and the two women spoke little. They were both absorbed in their own individual thoughts when just as they passed the Douglass farm, they heard a yell from the barn, followed by a string of colorful language. Snapped out of their reverie, the women looked at each other, dropped their purchases, and ran towards the scream.

They passed the hired boy, who was running out of the barn at top speed. Apparently, the cussing had been directed at him, because when they entered the barn, they found an appalling scene.

Norman Douglass stood, clutching his left arm, which was gushing blood at an alarming rate. Marybeth turned to Anne to have her get the doctor, but Anne was already in motion. "I'll call my husband from your phone, Mr. Douglass," she said over her shoulder as she trotted into the house.

Marybeth sped over to his side. "Let me look," she said.

"I'm fine. Go away."

"Let me see," she repeated. She pried his fingers loose, but she was unable to see the wound through the gushing blood. Pressing the wound with one hand, she dug in her pocket for the clean handkerchief she had there and pressed that over the wound instead.

"Lacy handkerchief's gonna be a lot of help," he muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, hush up," she replied. "Save your strength." She looked around the barn and spied a little bale of hay. "Come sit over here," she commanded, tugging at his arm.

He complied, grumbling, as she led him to the hay and made him sit. "I'll be fine. Just tie up the handkerchief with something."

"Wrong. I'm staying here until Dr. Blythe gets here. Tie it up, indeed." She lifted his arm above the shoulder.

"What are you trying to do, woman? Yank my arm out of its socket?"

"Are you always such a baby when you get hurt? I own a farm and I have several sons. I think I know how to stop bleeding."

He fell silent then, but looked at her speculatively as she held his arm. She smiled at him reassuringly, and also fell silent. Her shoulders started to ache and she rested his arm on a barrel nearby, but continued to apply pressure.

"So, Mr. Douglass, what happened?"

"Saw slipped."

She tisked sympathetically and shook her head. The blood flow was slowing a bit and Mr. Douglass leaned towards Marybeth a little and said, "Mrs. Hamilton, if I may..."

But whatever he was going to say was cut short by the arrival at that moment of Dr. Blythe. Mr. Douglass sighed with a trace of annoyance and leaned back against the wall. Dr. Blythe took one look at Marybeth and sent her home.

"This is where I take over, Mrs. Hamilton. Get yourself cleaned up. You look like you just committed murder."

Marybeth raised an eyebrow at Mr. Douglass and said, "If the patient hadn't stopped arguing with me about letting me care for him, I just might have."


	8. Chapter 8

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Jomishie sat on the chair in Marybeth's bedroom, clutching the seat for dear life as Marybeth brushed the tangles out of the little girl's hair. This was Jomishie's least favorite part of the day because not only did the brushing hurt, but Henry took an unseemly enjoyment in the whole affair and would mimic Jomishie until she got mad and Marybeth would be forced to send him from the room.

Today, however, Jomishie had other things on her mind. Not only was this the day of the Glen Carnival, but also she and Anna had persuaded Marybeth to let them wear their hair down. Usually Marybeth dressed their hair in braids and saved flowing hair for church days, but the girls had begged and Marybeth gave in.

Anna's hair was already done, the front hair pulled back from her face and held with a ribbon. She sat on Marybeth's bed and chattered happily about the Carnival. A troupe of performers was going to be there, and rides, and contests. The whole town would be there and it was going to be an exciting day.

Marybeth had given her older boys enough money for tickets and games and they were gone already. The Carnival wouldn't be open for another hour or so, but they wanted to be there in time to watch the roustabouts set up.

Lanie insisted on going to the Carnival despite being close to her due date, so they had decided that they would all ride to the Carnival, and Marybeth and the younger children would walk back. Dilcey and Marybeth both knew Lanie would tire quickly and be grateful for the opportunity to escape. The children, on the other hand, would want to stay as long as they could.

When they arrived at the main gate and paid for their tickets, the children proceeded to drag Marybeth down the midway, away from Lanie, Bert and Dilcey. She gave them a little wave as she went with the young ones.

"Mama! A merry-go-round!" Anna cried. The four of them, Anna, Marybeth, Jomishie and Henry stood and watched the horses whirling around. A moment later they were in line. When the ride stopped and the previous riders got off, they chose horses and climbed on. Marybeth was a little nervous--she had never ridden one of these before. She had only ridden real horses before, and she wasn't always successful at that. The children looked eager, however, and Marybeth clutched the pole in one hand and the reins in the other and tried to look as dignified as possible, perched sidesaddle.

When the ride started, she realized how silly it was for her to feel nervous. She was safe enough, and the ride was fun. Ahead of her, she could hear Jomishie squealing, and see her hair and ribbons flying behind her. Her hair would be an awful tangled mess before the day was out, but they could worry about that tomorrow.

Too soon for the children, the ride was over, and they had to dismount. They stood outside the little fence that surrounded the carousel and Marybeth tried to peer into one of the mirrors as she readjusted her wide-brimmed hat. More people were arriving every minute, and it was getting crowded.

Watching the carousel move had fascinated Henry. He asked his mother, "How does it work?"

Marybeth didn't know. As she shrugged and shook her head, she heard a familiar voice behind her say, "Steam."

Marybeth whirled around. "Mr. Douglas, how are you?"

He nodded to her before he resumed his explanation, "They use a steam engine to make it run. Most carousels are powered like that. Of course, this carousel is smaller so it can be moved from place to place."

Henry was happy to hear the explanation, but he was ready to move on to the next attraction.

"Mama, games!"

Marybeth wanted to ask her neighbor how his arm was. "Which way are you headed, Mr. Douglas?"

"The livestock exhibition."

"We're going the opposite way, it seems. Perhaps I'll run into you later."

"Perhaps." He grinned at her as she was dragged down the midway through the jostling crowds.

The children found plenty of games to play--ring toss, ball toss, target practice. Anna enjoyed the game where she could shoot water into a clown's mouth and even won a prize--an ugly little rubber doll.

Marybeth saw Mr. Meredith one time, outside the House of Freaks, talking to an older woman and her young daughter. More precisely, the older woman was holding forth and Mr. Meredith was listening. He didn't see Marybeth before she was dragged away to buy some cotton candy.

After cleaning the sticky children with her handkerchief dipped in a cup of water, they met the Blythes at the crafts tent. Anne and Marybeth admired the quilts and preserves, but Gilbert offered to take all the children back to the rides.

After they had seen everything there was to see in the crafts exhibit, the two women went for some lemonade.

"Here, take this," Marybeth said, pushing her parasol at Anne. "You're sure to get burned with only that little hat."

Anne accepted the parasol gratefully. "This is the first time there's ever been a carnival in Glen St. Mary's. It's quite a do, isn't it?"

"I think everybody in the town turned out, and probably some people from other towns. I think I've seen everybody I know today. There was Miss Cornelia here at the crafts, some Drews I know, some MacAllisters, Mr. Meredith was talking to somebody outside the House of Freaks."

Anne shuddered. "Jem wanted to see inside it. I wouldn't let him. It's too much like exploiting them, to go in and look. I wish it could be outlawed. Gilbert says it's unfortunate, but he says that a lot of them would be plunged into poverty if they weren't allowed to do this kind of work. Most employers don't want to hire somebody with an obvious deformity, but here they can make their own money. Not that Gilbert approves, however."

"No, I understand what he means--like the lesser of two evils. I just remember how grateful I felt when my children were born healthy. It seems indecent to stare."

"Are you still planning to be here tonight for the music? I hear some of the bands are quite talented," Anne said.

"I sure am, if I can still ride home with you afterward--so many strange people in town right now."

Anne nodded.

"My older boys are supposed to meet me at the main gate at 3:00. I want to make sure they haven't gotten themselves in any trouble." Marybeth got up to leave. "Keep the parasol--I'll get it tonight. Besides, it's less for me to carry."

Later that evening, after she had seen her children safely to bed, Marybeth changed her clothes and redressed her hair and returned to the Carnival to hear the musicians. She could hear the music even before she reached the tent, and she sat down on a bench to fan herself and enjoy a moment's peace before she looked for the Blythes. There were strings of Japanese lanterns hung between poles outside and the moon was full, so it was easy to see even though it was fully nightfall. She watched the couples strolling back and forth and sighed. She had always been able to tolerate being alone during the day, but night was when she missed being married. However, the band was playing lively, popular tunes, and it was impossible to feel too sad or lonely for very long.

The tent was little more than a very large canopy spread over a framework that left the sides open. People could come and go from all sides, and the air could circulate if they were lucky enough to get a breeze. The band played on one end; there was an open area where a few people were dancing, a refreshment stand off on one side, and plenty of chairs and tables for people to sit.

Marybeth saw the Blythes right away, sitting with the Marshall Elliots. She picked her way through the tent greeting the people she knew as she went. Halfway to the Blythe's table she spotted Mr. Meredith. Just like this afternoon, he was talking to an older woman, a different one this time. Actually, there were two older women, with their pretty, demure daughters in tow. Marybeth glanced over to him as she walked, but he didn't seem to see her. She greeted the Blythes and the Elliots and exchanged some pleasantries with them before she glanced over at Mr. Meredith again. This time he was looking at her. She smiled and nodded at him and he nodded back to her before turning his attention back to the older woman.

"What are you looking at?" Miss Cornelia had sidled up to Marybeth.

"Mr. Meredith," replied Marybeth simply as she snapped open her fan, refusing to take the bait. It really was quite warm in the tent.

"He's quite besieged, isn't he?" Miss Cornelia said, as Marybeth fanned herself.

"Yes, indeed."

"It's been like that the whole time we've been here. Quite a few mothers in this town would love to arrange a match like that for their daughters," Miss Cornelia had lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He would be quite a catch. For the_ right_ woman, that is. A woman who could support him in his work."

Marybeth turned to look at Miss Cornelia. "Indubitably," she said, with her most innocent face.

"Naturally, he won't be dancing tonight, as much as some girls might wish for it, him being a minister and all."

Marybeth hid her surprise at this announcement. "Nope, it just wouldn't be fitting," she agreed, but she turned that little tidbit over in her mind.

"Would you care to dance, Mrs. Hamilton?" Marybeth turned to see Mr. Douglas at her side, with his hand extended to herself and giving an impudent grin to Miss Cornelia.

"I would be honored, Mr. Douglas," Marybeth replied, taking his hand. She gave a wink to Miss Cornelia over her shoulder as she was led to the dance floor. Marybeth was perversely satisfied to see the look of stunned shock on Miss Cornelia's face as she watched them begin the dance.

"Cornelia giving you a hard time?"

"Miss Cornelia happens to be a close personal friend of mine," Marybeth insisted.

"Be that as it may, I've known the old girl a long time, and I know how she gets that look when she's trying to dig up gossip."

"Anyway," Marybeth wanted to change the subject. "How's your arm?"

"Well enough to do this." In a sudden movement that made her gasp, he tightened his hold on her and spun her in two steps.

"Sorry I asked," Marybeth said when she had caught her breath.

"Are you really? I'd hate to think you were sorry..."

"Behave yourself," she laughed.

"What are you talking about? All I'm doing is dancing with my nice, friendly, new neighbor."

"Yes, I suppose you are pretty lucky, at that,"

"And you tell me to behave," he laughed back at her as he whirled her again.

After the set was over, he took her back to her table before heading towards his own friends. The tent was quite crowded now, with dancers and onlookers, and it was quite impossible to see across to the other side. Marybeth felt exhilarated. She loved to dance and it had been a long time since she had had anything other than courtesy dances. Mr. Douglas didn't ask her again that night, although she did see him on the dance floor once or twice before losing sight of him altogether in the crowd. But, she had several partners of her own, and was thoroughly enjoying herself as the evening wore on.

Despite the late hour, the air in the tent was becoming quite oppressive from the crush of people, but Anne and Gilbert were still enjoying themselves and hadn't made any movement to leave. Marybeth excused herself and went out of the tent in the hopes of finding some fresh, cool air.

She rambled in the direction of the cluster of trees, where picnic tables had been set up, fanning herself, and avoiding the couples that milled around looking for a private place to talk. She found a quiet place to sit for a few minutes and stare at nothing in particular.

She was headed back to the tent when she saw Mr. Meredith leaning against one of the trees on the far side of the grove, looking up at the moon. Apparently, he was enjoying his solitude, too. Hoping she wasn't being too intrusive, Marybeth headed slowly towards him, making noise as she went so she wouldn't startle him.

"Boys and girls, come out to play, the moon does shine as bright as day," she crooned, reminded of a song she had learned once.

Mr. Meredith turned around and smiled at her, "Leave your supper and leave your sleep and meet your playfellows in the street," he spoke in response. "That's how the next line goes, isn't it? I remember that song from when I was a little boy. I had an aunt who sang it to me. But how is it that you're out here?"

"I'm afraid the tent is just too hot. All the people milling around and the dancing--I mean if dancing is something you like to do-- not everybody likes to --or approves--or--" she stammered, remembering what Miss Cornelia said and not wanting to offend him.

Mr. Meredith smiled gently at her discomfiture. "It's all right, Mrs. Hamilton. Dancing is not considered seemly for ministers of my denomination." He lowered his voice a little. "I think, a little like your people would not consider eating meat on Friday."

Marybeth looked at him squarely. "You're right, Mr. Meredith. I wouldn't."

It had come, as a bit of a shock to Mr. Meredith to learn that Marybeth was Catholic. He simply hadn't noticed that she didn't attend his church until he saw her at Zachariah Drew's funeral. But when he saw her sitting in the back, following along in the prayer book, he realized that she hadn't been there all along.

Then later, he'd had to meet with the canvassing committee about their progress in their latest project. Mrs. Blythe had reported on her area and mentioned off-handedly that the Hamiltons belonged to Stella Maris.

Our Lady Stella Maris was the Catholic church at Lowbridge. Mr. Meredith didn't know much about either its pastor or congregation other than that they were largely French speaking. Not that it mattered when they prayed in Latin.

Mr. Meredith had been surprised at the sense of let-down he felt when he learned the news. A lady close to his age, with a scholarly bent and an interest in spiritual matters was hard to find. Yet at the same time he realized--she was now safe. He could enjoy her company without any fear of gossip or any risk that she would throw herself at his head.

"You know, for some reason," Marybeth said, "our family just never had a chance to go to a carnival before. We moved three times, and the carnivals never seemed to be in the same place we were, or we were out of town, or always something."

"Cecilia and I took the two older children once when they were small. Faith screamed at the sight of the clowns. Then we moved a few times and never took them to one again. Just like you. We never were in the right place at the right time."

"So, what part did you like best today?"

"Just the fact that it was like a holiday--a break from the everyday life."

Marybeth couldn't help smiling at that abstract answer. "And here I was thinking that you'd give me an answer like 'the food' or 'the music'. Personally, I rather liked the acrobats. It was fun to watch them do all those tricks. I better get back and catch up with the Blythes. They're taking me home."

"I'll walk you back to the tent."

Marybeth fell silent as they walked, thinking about ministers not being allowed to dance. She was sure she must have heard that rule at one time, but it never had any practical meaning for her.

"Why so quiet?" He asked her.

She startled out of her reverie. "I was just thinking--how when a person decides to act against public opinion--what most people are doing--it sets them apart, marks them in a way..." She threw her hands up in frustration. "I started thinking about it because of how we were talking about you're not allowed to dance, but I don't even know what conclusion I was trying to draw." She broke off, embarrassed at being caught in the middle of some half-baked philosophic musing.

Mr. Meredith realized he had broken into her uncensored thoughts and budding ideas and didn't want to make her too uncomfortable. "Maybe," he said mildly, "it's just too late at night to try to think out such deep thoughts."

"Maybe," she agreed, but she knew she would be thinking about all this for quite a while.


	9. Chapter 9

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

The summer that Marybeth Hamilton decided to vacation in Canada, she also decided to bring only her youngest children with her. She wound up bringing six of them. Ted, Beau and Wade Jr. went with her, as well as Anna, Henry and Jomishie.

Ted, Beau and Wade Jr. Hamilton were at that fortunate age after young childhood with its need for constant supervision, but before the need to plan for the future tied them down to work, and they made the most of that summer, mostly running wild with Jem and Walter Blythe and Jerry Meredith.

One evening the boys had obtained permission to go to the beach to build a bonfire and have a cookout. The Blythe and Meredith girls went with them, and even Anna had permission to go, but she was under strict orders to report home at sundown.

Somehow, word had gone around town that there would be a bonfire at the beach and no sooner had a roaring fire been built than a few uninvited guests showed up. They were kids from the Harbour Mouth, that were known to them by first name, although not very well. The Rainbow Valley kids didn't want to appear unfriendly, so they reluctanly invited them to sit around the fire.

The Harbour Mouth kids were prone to trouble, and their ringleader. a sandy-haired boy with a severe underbite named Joey, brought out a bottle of whiskey that he'd hidden in his jacket and started opening it.

Jerry Meredith saw the bottle first and leaned over and and said politely, "You can't do that here."

"Says who?" retorted Joey.

"There's girls here," Jerry shrugged and smiled placatingly. "You understand."

"No, I don't ."

"Then I'll have to ask you to leave," Jerry insisted.

"Oh yeah, you don't own the whole beach."

"Maybe not," Said Jem, who had come up beside Jerry, "But we do own the bonfire."

"Well, we've decided we like it here. We're not leaving." Joey crossed his arms and refused to move.

"You wanna take this over there?" Beau Hamilton said to Joey menacingly, gesturing to an area of empty sandy beach. Beau was not a boy to start arguments, but he loved to jump into a fracas, often on the slimmest of pretenses, much to his mother's despair. Wade Jr. put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Let's just go, Joey." That came from a Harbour Mouth boy named Lee. Lee had realized that they were outnumbered and didn't want to cause that much trouble tonight.

Joey must have come to the same realization, because he aquiesced, with much grumbling. As a parting shot, he mumbled something about "sissy preacher's kid".

"Hey, you wanna come back here and say that?" Yelled Beau.

"Just forget it, Beau," said Jerry. "He's not worth it."

In the meanwhile, the girls had been watching this interchange with some interest. None of them were strangers to schoolyard fighting, but it would have been a shame to spoil this nice evening.

The evening _was_ nice; they played games, and cooked some food over the open fire, and even wet their feet in the ocean. At sundown, Anna and Una walked home, and Walter was entertaining his friends with his stories while they ate when they heard a sound somewhere between a shriek and a laugh.

The Harbour Mouth kids had not left the beach completely. They simply moved to some rocks which were close enough for the Rainbow Valley kids to see, but not to hear. At least, until the strange noise.

More young people had joined the group on the rocks and the whiskey had flowed freely. Joey had not been the only kid to bring alcohol. The shriek had come from a girl who seemed to be pushed or pulled around by some of the boys in the group. The girl shrieked again, and the boys at the bonfire looked at each other, then decided to go investigate, while the girls stayed back and watched from a distance.

When they got close enough to see clearly, one of the Harbour Mouth boys, named Frankie, had the girl by the upper arm, and she was trying to push him away.

"Is there a problem here?" Jem said.

"No, and if there were, it wouldn't be any of your business," said Frankie, who seemed to think the girl's struggles were funny.

"I think the young lady wants to be left alone," said Ted Hamilton.

"_I think the young lady wants to be left alone_," said Joey, who had stepped forward, mimicking Ted's accent.

"I've had just about enough out of you," yelled Beau, sprinting forward.

"Beau, stop!" said Ted, but he was too late. Beau had pounced on Joey and punched him in the face. Despite being quite drunk, Joey fought back and punched Beau in the nose. Frankie and Lee stood as if stunned for a moment before jumping Beau, who fought them off as best as he could. At this point, Jem grabbed Joey, Jerry grabbed Lee, and Beau shoved Frankie off him, sending him sprawling. In all the confusion, Ted led the girl away from the fight. Wade Jr. ran over and grabbed Beau by the arm before he could attack Frankie.

The boys all stood glaring at each other, panting, until Jem spoke.

"Let's just stop this now. Everybody got their punches in, I think it's gone far enough. Agreed?"

The Harbour Mouth boys looked at each other, and let Joey speak for them. "Agreed." He mumbled.

"What's your name, Miss?" Ted asked the girl. He had brought her over to the bonfire.

"Sadie," she grinned. "From Harbour Mouth." Ted looked at her sharply. She was swaying and she reeked of whiskey. He looked at the boys from her neighborhood, and over at his brothers and friends. Beau was dripping blood.

"Wade Jr., I want you to take Beau home and let Ma fix him up. Jem, Jerry, I think this barbeque is over. If you'll take the girls home, I'll walk Sadie here home." He lowered his voice and said to Walter, who was standing close by,"I don't dare let her walk home alone with that bunch." Walter nodded understandingly.

Marybeth was alone in the parlor, finishing the last pages of Mr. Meredith's book when Wade Jr. brought in a dripping Beau.

"Don't get mad, Ma" Beau said, as Marybeth stood up, shook her head and put her hands on her hips. "Some Harbour Mouth boys started trouble."

"It's true, Ma," Wade Jr. said, when she looked to him for confirmation. We just left from there. The party's over. But the girls are safe. Ted will be along pretty soon."

"Come on Beau, into the kitchen. Don't go bleeding all over the carpet," Marybeth said exasperatedly.

Forty-five minutes later, Ted came in, looking tired, and mumbled "Good night" as he kissed his mother and climbed up to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Marybeth sat sideways on the crumbling wall with her feet stretched out in front of her, leaning back on her arms, face tilted towards the sky. It was nearly midnight, her favorite time for jaunts to Rainbow Valley, and she strove to relax enough to make it worth her while to go back to her house and fall asleep.

Her emotions were not altogether unpleasant, but there were many things vying for her attention at that moment. Lanie was due any day now and Marybeth tried to make her rest, but Lanie declared she'd go insane if she weren't able to work at all. Ted had been in a strange mood since the night of the bonfire--quiet and pensive. He wasn't rude or disrespectful, but Marybeth was concerned. She didn't want to intrude on his privacy, but if this kept up much longer she would have to have a talk with him.

On the other hand, something had happened to make her laugh. She was down in the village with the girls when Aunt Kitty MacAllister stopped them in the road. Marybeth mostly disapproved of Aunt Kitty's "second sight"--it was too much like Spiritism in Marybeth's opinion--something she wanted to avoid. But Aunt Kitty insisted that she saw marriage in Marybeth's future.

"You can foresee this, Aunt Kitty?" Marybeth had asked, skeptically.

"Don't be ridiculous," Aunt Kitty retorted. "Anyone can see that you're just the type of woman who needs to be married."

Marybeth had been annoyed at the time, but now it seemed funny to her. She crossed her ankles and sighed.

Her thoughts jolted back to the present when she heard footfalls and turned her head towards the source of the sound. It was without surprise that she saw her neighbor.

"I had a feeling you'd be here tonight," Mr. Douglas greeted her. Marybeth shrugged.

"I'm just observing the stars and the moon..."

"It's made out of green cheese, you know."

Marybeth raised her eyebrow at him. "Don't tease. You know perfectly well it's an enormous rock."

"I'm impressed, you must read a little bit."

"Ha. I happen to read quite a bit."

Mr. Douglas sat on the wall opposite her and made himself comfortable laying back and looking at the stars.

"You read a lot, do you?" He asked. "Care to discuss Darwin?"

"With you? Never. Anyway, I don't want to think tonight. I just want to sit and rest a while."

After a moment's pause, Mr. Douglas said, "Mrs. Hamilton, why are you here?"

"I told you--I wanted to get out of the house and--"

"No. Why are you here in Glen St. Mary? Now. This summer."

Marybeth paused for a moment to think. The conversation was becoming personal in way that made her uncomfortable. "It seemed like a good idea--new scenery--when Anne wrote me and told me about--"

"You knew Mrs. Blythe before you moved here?"

"For somewhere around 10 years, but--"

"Never mind, never mind," he said impatiently. Then he continued, "Mrs. Hamilton, I don't want to imply anything--"

"Then don't," she said, curtly.

"No, hear me out. Glen St. Mary is a very small town. Gossip is terrible. There's a bunch of old biddies who love nothing more than to get their hands on a nice, juicy story."

"Mr. Douglas, if you'll kindly get to the point," Marybeth's patience was wearing thin and her stomach had a tight knot in it.

He turned his head towards her. "Fine. Last week, in my barn, you lost your accent. It changed into something else. Care to explain how a nice Southern belle starts talking like a Yankee? I was going to ask you then, but the doctor arrived."

"You needn't have let that stop you. The Blythes already know. I wasn't born down South. In fact, I _never, ever_, claimed I was. I lived many years there, but I was born in Pennsylvania. A city called Bethlehem. My parents still live there. My accent is a habit, not what I was born with. But it's not fake. It's acquired." She strove to speak calmly, but he was making her upset. Was she being accused of dishonesty?

"Fine, that's a logical explanation."

"I'm so glad you approve," she said, heavily sarcastic.

"Mrs. Hamilton, don't get mad at me. I don't think anybody else suspects you're actually a Yankee. At least, there hasn't been any gossip about it. But there is another thing, and if people start adding everything up..."

"What."

"The story going around that your late husband fought a duel to the death to marry you."

Marybeth stood up with a cry, her hands curling into fists.

"I told you," he continued. "This is a small town, where people have nothing better to do than gossip."

"And you have nothing better to do than to cast it up in my face!" She cleared the space between them in two steps and stood over him. "You want to know about my life? Fine!" She was furious by now and started hitting him. "I ran away from home when I was fifteen," she gasped and hit him. "Lived on the streets," she hit him again, harder. "Pick pocketed," She took another swing at him, but he caught her wrist and she struggled to free her hand. "Pick pocketed to survive until...until..." He put an arm around her, hard, to immobilize her. "Let go of me!" She was crying now. Still struggling, she kicked him hard on the shin, which made him let go of her, then turned and ran towards home.

He caught up with her easily, picked her up and sat down with her in his lap, holding her tightly until fatigue made her give up struggling. He hadn't imagined she would react so violently. If his late wife had ever shown a fraction of Marybeth's spirit...He grinned at the thought. Then he realized that Marybeth was crying quietly, and shaking from the aftermath of too strong emotions.

"Get your handkerchief," he whispered, and loosened his hold so she could reach it. She dabbed at her face.

"Understand this," he said; "no matter what you have in your past, it won't make me lose esteem for you. I already decided you're a decent sort. But I don't want to see you becoming a subject of gossip for other people."

Marybeth didn't answer him.

He decided to change the subject. "Is it really 'Marybeth', or is it short for something else?"

"Mary Elizabeth," she mumbled.

"Mary," he said, turning her face towards his. "You've struggled quite a bit in your life, haven't you?"

Giving him stare for stare, she said clearly, "Everything that happened to me, I brought on myself. I chose it and I did it. And my name is Mrs. Hamilton."

He pulled her close and sat quietly with her. To his surprise, she didn't fight him, only leaned against him tiredly.

"Why did you run away from home at such a young age?"

Marybeth choked up and couldn't answer him. When he heard her weeping again, he stroked her hair. He was surprised again when he felt her arms entwine around him.


	11. Chapter 11

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Marybeth was awakened from an uneasy, fitful slumber by Dilcey's insistent hand on her shoulder, shaking her.

Marybeth sat bolt upright. "What is it Dilcey?"

"You need to call the doctor--Lanie's ready to have the baby. She's doing just fine, but it's time to call the doctor."

Marybeth climbed out of bed, threw on a dressing-gown and hurried downstairs to the phone. Dilcey had never learned to use a phone, and at her age, she didn't even want to learn.

"Hello, Anne? Marybeth. Is the doctor there? It's Lanie's time. Soon? Thank you."

She went to the back bedroom to report to Dilcey. "The doctor's out on a case, but Mrs. Blythe expects him back any moment now. She'll send him right over."

Dilcey shrugged, unconcerned. In a low voice, she said," I only sent for him because that's what Lanie wants. It's a fine day when your own grandaughter thinks you can't deliver a baby."

Marybeth smiled sympathetically and went upstairs to change. Putting on an old blouse and skirt, she looked in the mirror only long enough to check she was on straight, and to pin the braid she had slept in up on her head. Then she knocked on Anna's door.

"Come in," Anna said.

Marybeth went in to see Anna already dressed. "Lanie's not feeling well this morning, and I need to help her. I would like you to fix your own hair today, and Jomishie's if she'll let you. Don't fight with her over it, however. It's more important that Lanie rest than for Jomishie to have braids. Then, I want you to make breakfast. Toast and eggs will be fine. Are you up to it?" Marybeth smiled at her daughter.

"Of course I am. And Ma, when you say Lanie's not feeling well, do you mean the baby's coming?" She smiled slyly at her mother.

Marybeth shook her head in surprise. "How did you--never mind, we'll talk later. Thanks, sweetheart." She hugged her daughter. "And by the way, you don't need to discuss Lanie's condition with Jomishie...or Henry."

"Ma, give me credit for some _sense_!" Anna replied seriously and maturely.

Marybeth hurried down the stairs and into the back bedroom, rolling up her sleeves as she entered. "How is everything?"

Lanie's only reply was a scornful look and a moan as a pain hit her. "Grandma, I can't _do_ this!" She wailed.

When the pain subsided, Dilcey ordered her, "Get up on your knees, put your arms on the headboard and rest your head down on your arms. That'll lighten the pain a bit." Then she murmured to Marybeth, "back labor."

Marybeth assisted on one side and Dilcey on the other side as they got Lanie into position.

"Now, Miz Marybeth, I want you to push on Lanie's lower back when the next pain comes."

Marybeth climbed up behind Lanie and pushed hard on her back when the next pain came. Afterward, Dilcey asked, "Did that help?"

"A little," came the muffled reply as Lanie kept her head on her arms.

The two women continued to assist the laboring woman as they waited for the doctor to come. Lanie complained her knees were tired, and they put her on her side. Then she wanted to be upright, and they helped her sit. They sponged her when she got too hot, and gave her sips of water when she was thirsty, and helped her change positions whenever she wanted to.

The pains were becoming more frequent and more intense when finally the doctor arrived. Dr. Blythe agreed that labor was progressing well, and they decided that Marybeth was no longer needed to help. As she was leaving, she heard Dr. Blythe saying to Dilcey, "If her water doesn't break on its own in a few more contractions, we can decide if we want to do that ourselves."

Marybeth smiled at his tact, consulting with Dilcey, although she wondered what would happen if a real difference of opinion arose between them. Dr. Blythe had the most up-to-date training, but Dilcey had decades of experience in conditions much more primitive than a nice clean little bedroom in Glen St. Mary.

She found Bert sitting in the kitchen and gave him a report on Lanie's progress. He looked tired and worried, but didn't say anything beyond, "Thanks." But that was Bert's way. He never said much. However, Lanie was vivacious and talkative enough for both of them, so they balanced out.

"Where are the children? I don't hear them," Marybeth said, as she looked outside. The sky was getting darker as clouds were piling up.

"Rainbow Valley," he replied.

Rainbow Valley--last night--oh no. Mortified. That was how Marybeth felt as the memory of the previous night rushed back at her, full force, in the light of sober day. Blushing, she left the room to wash up before she went to fetch her children.

Every detail of last night played in her head as she washed. She was embarrassed at her own emotional overeaction to the things Mr. Douglas said. If anybody else had challenged her like that, she would have been annoyed, but she could have laughed and simply explained the discrepency in her speech. She could have set the rumor straight, and not cared what the other person thought. At least, not too much. Not so much to fly off the handle, anyway.

She couldn't remember the last time she had lost control like that. She strove to be pleasant and get along with people, and while she didn't always succeed, she made a true effort not to rock the boat if it wasn't necessary. And last night it wasn't necessary.

She couldn't even place the blame on what he had said, or the way he said it. His curiousity was valid. Something about Mr. Douglas himself had lit the fuse, as it were. She didn't want to look bad in his eyes.

Marybeth was dismayed by this realization. She had come here hoping to relax, see something new, be something new. She wanted a break from the daily workings of her farm, and the daily interactions with her neighbors, and she had not wanted to entangle herself in the lives of the people of Glen St. Mary beyond the commonplace pleasantries and good will to all. She didn't want anybody here to become too important to her.

It started to drizzle as she walked down to Rainbow Valley to collect her children to spend the afternoon at the Blythes'. She tried not to think about last night as she walked through the place where it happened, but she was unable to keep her thoughts away from it. The most humiliating rememberance was that at the end, when their quarrel was over, and he held her in his arms, she found it in herself to wish that it could be dark forever, and that the sun would never rise, and they could just stay in the quiet seclusion of Rainbow Valley.

Ha. Her problem was that she had been a widow too long.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Una Meredith, and she ducked her head so Una couldn't see her blush. Marybeth pretended that she was watching her footing very carefully as she greeted the little girl.

"We're going up to Ingleside, Una. You better come along, too. It's starting to rain hard. Get under my umbrella."

Una obeyed without any comment. Marybeth found all her children under the trees with the Blythes and the Merediths, and she herded them up the hill to Ingleside, where the younger children took off for the barn, and the older boys climbed up to the attic, but not before Ted impulsively kissed Marybeth on the cheek.

"What was that for?" She asked.

"To say 'sorry' for being so mopey this week," he said, sheepishly.

Marybeth did intercept the raised-eyebrow look Anna gave him as he climbed the stairs. Then Anna looked at Marybeth, shrugged and went to play with her friends.

"How's Lanie?" Miss Cornelia asked. She was working on another pretty baby dress.

"Dr. Blythe says fine, but she's feeling poorly." Marybeth looked at Anne. "Helping Lanie brought back a lot of memories for me."

Anne nodded understandingly. Miss Cornelia remarked, "Jomishie's about Rilla's age. It's been a long time."

Marybeth didn't believe in second sight, but Miss Cornelia seemed to be mirroring her own thoughts.

"Wade died when Jomishie was only a few months old. It has been a long time."

Miss Cornelia nodded. "I'm making this one for Lanie's baby. I had hoped to be finished it before now." She held up the little white dress.

"It's lovely, Lanie will love it. Thank you." Marybeth said.

"Some women might have started looking around again after all this time," Miss Cornelia abruptly changed the subject.

"Ah, but you know how hard it is to find a really good man." Marybeth smiled at her. It really was uncanny the way Miss Cornelia seemed to be shadowing her thoughts. "Besides, I heard you took your time for many years before marrying Mr. Elliot. Would you really advise jumping into any involvement with a man willy-nilly?"

"Not on your life," Miss Cornelia smiled back at her, a trifle reluctantly.

"I made Gil wait for me for years," interjected Anne. "Not on purpose, and looking back, I'm lucky he did wait for me. But, you're both right. You have to wait for the right man at the right time."

Gilbert called to announce that Lanie had given birth to a healthy baby girl, and that both mother and baby were fine and healthy. Miss Cornelia left soon after, promising to send the dress as soon as it was finished. Marybeth used Miss Cornelia's departure as an opportunity to tell Anne what happened in Rainbow Valley the previous night.

"So, what are you going to do?" Anne asked.

"Oh, that's the easy part. I'm just going to avoid him for the rest of the summer."

Anne crossed her arms and shook her head. "I like him, you know. Miss Cornelia doesn't, but I never found him to be anything but a good neighbor."

"Oh, Anne, I like him, too. He has a quick wit and he always makes me laugh. Well, usually."

"And, you seemed to be well matched on the dance floor."

"Yes. But is that enough?"

"Well, good luck, anyway," Anne said. This would have to play out over time. It would not be resolved today.

Back at home, Marybeth prepared an easy supper of leftover meat, vegetables and potatoes, and after cleanup, she and Anna went in to see Lanie and the baby.

Mother and baby were both asleep, and Dilcey chased them out, promising to call for Marybeth if she needed any help during the night.

"Ma, the baby was so little, and so cute. How can anybody be so little?"

"You were littler when you were born."

They were sitting at the kitchen table. The two youngest ones were in bed, and the older boys were out on the patio by themselves. It was too wet for outdoor play.

"Ma, I know why Ted was so quiet all these days."

"How do you know, Anna?" Marybeth was torn between a desire to know what was going on and her concern to know what Anna had to do with it all. After all, it was hardly likely that Ted had confided in his baby sister.

"I heard the boys talking about it."

"You know our rule in this family about eavesdropping."

"Ma, Ted's room is right next to mine, and I heard him through the wall. It wasn't eavesdropping, it was Ted being loud."

"Fine, what is it?"

"Some girl kissed him."

Marybeth's eyes opened wide.

"Yeah, some girl named Katie or Sadie or something like that. And Ma, she's _old_! Seventeen!"

"You sure of this?"

"That's what Ted told Wade Jr. and Beau."

Marybeth was almost sorry she asked. She didn't know what to do with the story Anna told her. She wished Wade were alive so he could talk to their son.


	12. Chapter 12

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Marybeth was alone in her kitchen, baking. Lanie was not on her feet yet, and Dilcey was tending her.

The kitchen of the house was spacious and dark, as the house had been built on a slope and the kitchen was partly underground. There was a massive cast iron stove, perfect for cooking the amounts of food required in the Hamilton household and an enormous wooden table in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, there was only one window cut into the stone wall, and a door that led out to the back yard, and neither allowed enough light for close work. There was a screen in the door, however, and Marybeth could get some air into the kitchen without attracting flies. It was quite warm however, even this early in the morning. Later in the afternoon it would be too hot for any kind of baking.

Marybeth had tied up her hair in a kerchief and pushed up her sleeves and was rolling crust for a pie at the wooden table when she heard a knock at the kitchen door.

"Come in!" She called, then looked up to see Mr. Meredith let himself in. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Welcome to my kitchen. What brings you here today?"

"I wanted to thank you for the book you sent over." He was thinking that she looked very funny with the kerchief tied on her head, the ends flopping over like an enormous hair bow.

"You're welcome. If you're not too busy, won't you sit down? I'd just advise you to hang your suit coat on that peg over there. You'll swelter in this heat."

As he hung his coat on the peg, Marybeth wiped her hands on a damp rag and poured some tea that was left over in the pot. She shoved the teacup, sugar and milk at him where he was sitting at the other end of the table from her workspace. Then she resumed her pie crust.

As he stirred his tea, he said, "I admit I was quite surprised at the subject matter. Tertullian? His later writings were considered quite heretical--saying that certain sins were beyond forgiveness."

"I just ignore that part," said Marybeth with a shrug. "And, that's why I bought his writings in commentary form, so I can tell what parts are sound and what parts are unsound. I left school when I was 15, but I always loved to read whatever and whenever I could get my hands on. Novels, classics, religious, a little bit of history. Even things like magazines. But I never went to college like you, for instance." Then she grinned. "I have to admit, politics confuses me. I just sort of ignore that. And anyway I can't vote so it doesn't really matter."

She looked up at him; he was nodding at her. "I know, I know, I'm a bluestocking," she said, grinning.

"It doesn't matter. There's nothing wrong with furthering your education on your own. In fact, it's admirable."

The room grew quiet as Marybeth lined the pie pan with the crust and started adding the filling ingredients.

"Actually, Mr. Meredith, I'm glad you stopped by. I want to ask you something." Marybeth tried to speak casually, and not appear to be soliciting gossip. "What do you know about the Harbor Mouth young people?"

"Some are very good, and some are not. Just like everywhere, Mrs. Hamilton." Marybeth nodded slowly.

Seeing her disappointment at his brief response, Mr. Meredith asked, "Is this about the incident on the beach last week?"

"Yes, sort of," Marybeth replied as she put the top crust on.

"From what Faith told me, Ted acted quite honorably. He walked the young girl home, keeping her from the boys who had been drinking whiskey..."

"Wait--what? First let me put this in the oven," Marybeth opened the oven, letting a blast of hot air into the kitchen, put the pie in to bake, then closed the oven and stood up. She went to sit down next to Mr. Meredith.

"What's all this about whiskey?" She asked.

"You didn't know?"

"I knew there was a fight. Beau came home bloody. What did Faith tell you?"

"Faith said some Harbor Mouth kids showed up."

"Yes, yes, I know that part."

"Anyway, they brought some whiskey, and were told by our boys that they were not welcome at the bonfire. They went down the beach a little way. Then, our boys saw them harassing a girl, they went to rescue her, a fight broke out, and Ted walked the girl home. As I said, Ted acted admirably."

Marybeth sat a few moments, digesting everything Mr. Meredith told her.

"What was the girl's name, do you know?"

"Sadie. Faith didn't know her last name."

Marybeth was quiet again, trying to put everything together. She frowned a little. Maybe Ted wasn't so chivalrous. It disappointed her to think it. On the other hand, according to Anna, the girl kissed him, not the other way around. But Ted was only 14. Way too young for girls.

Mr. Meredith watched the play of emotions on Marybeth's face as she sat thinking. The warmth and dimness of kitchen, along with the comfortable cooking smells were having a soporific effect on him. He was comfortable just to sit with her like this and talk.

"At least Anna and Una were gone by that time," she said, and sat back in the chair. Suddenly she sat up straight and leaned forward to Mr. Meredith, her hands clasped on her knees, looking directly into his eyes. "The kids, our kids, they're just too young for this. They know all the fairy tales, and the stories of knights and romance, and how they end in happily ever after. Love and romance is part of life, after all. But I don't want them to see the seedier side of men and women together yet. I can't shelter them forever, Mr. Meredith, but for right now, I want them to understand the ideal--that when the Prince kissed Sleeping Beauty, she had saved her lips for the man she loved. It wasn't just--" Marybeth dropped her head down, embarrassed, blushing. This was the most intimate conversation she had ever had with any man other than Wade about the physical side of married life. And she and Wade had only ever exchanged this type of conversation in the dark of their own room. Reticence had been trained into her during her upbringing. But she had been thinking about Ted and was talking to Mr. Meredith as one parent to another, forgetting momentarily that he was a man.

Mr. Meredith sat, dumbfounded. He didn't know what had brought on this passionate outburst because he didn't know the story that Anna had told Marybeth about Sadie and Ted. He did realize that he was hearing some of her deepest feelings about love and understood her modesty and why she had blushed. Cecilia had been much the same way; loving and affectionate and willing, but unable to talk about that part of their life without much agony of embarrassment. In his ministry he had been privy to people's most private lives. A person would repent and convert, and would tell him their story. Mr. Meredith had heard much, includng stories about things that women like Marybeth and Cecilia would never know about. It was all part of his purpose in life. But he had snapped out of his soporific mood when Marybeth leaned forward to pour out her feelings. He became aware that they sitting close together, knees almost touching, with her face turned towards his as she talked about kissing. He felt an enormous amount of relief when she stood up and moved away from him and started clearing off the table, but to his confusion, there was disappointment mixed in there, too.

He looked up at her when she sighed, sharply. Rubbing her hand across her forehead, she said with a wry smile, "The mother is always the last to know."

Flour on her hands had rubbed off onto her face as she said it. The combination of her abrupt change of mood, along with the sight of her with her funny kerchief and flour-smeared face affected Mr. Meredith strangely. As a reaction to the sudden ceasing of tension in the room, he started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" She asked, wondering.

"You, with the flour on your face," he replied, chuckling.

"This is funny, is it,?" She couldn't help laughing a little nervously as she felt the atmosphere in the kitchen become less charged.

"Yes," he said, defiantly, still laughing.

"Oh really, how funny is this?" Impulsively, she picked up a couple pinches of flour and threw it at him. Then she put her hands over her mouth in horror as he looked at her, shocked.

"So that's how it is?" He said, before he sprang up, reached over to the open flour sack and threw a pinch back at her.

She squealed and jumped. "Ha! You missed." Then she grabbed some more flour and ran as he grabbed some flour and chased her around the table, throwing flour, grabbing for more.

She was laughing, getting breathless as she said, "Stop, we're going to disturb Lanie," before she threw another handful at him and reached for more.

"Hey!" he said, before he lunged, took hold of her throwing hand and, laughing, pulled her to him, then wrapped his other arm around her waist. "If you want to stop, then let go of the flour," he said more quietly, as he twined his fingers in hers to make her drop the flour she was holding.

They stood like this, regarding each other for a few heartbeats, unsure what to do. Marybeth scarcely breathed, but her heart was pounding in her chest and her knees felt weak.

"If I may," he murmured quietly as he broke eye contact. He let go of her hand and felt at her waist for the damp rag she had used to wipe her hands. Gently, he wiped the flour off her face, then stepped back a little and gave the rag to her for her hands.

"Mr. Meredith," Marybeth could hardly keep her voice steady. "Your vest. I'm so sorry." She turned to the pail of clean water and rinsed out the rag and handed it back to him. "It'll come out, thankfully. What would your Aunt Martha say if you came home covered in flour?"

He smiled at her shyly.

Marybeth proceeded to clean the table, and the flour that was everywhere. After Mr. Meredith had cleaned himself up, he proceeded to help her tidy the kitchen. They worked silently, neither knowing what to say to the other. Finally the room was in tip-top order, and Marybeth took off her apron and kerchief. Mr. Meredith, stood, looking at her steadily, but not saying anything, either.

"Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Meredith. I really must get lunch on the table. Unless you'd like to stay?"

"I'm afraid not, I have business in town."

She saw him out the door and watched him walk down the road into town before she sat down in the lounge chair to cool herself off before making lunch. Her thoughts were spinning and she couldn't help reflecting that it wasn't likely her insomnia would be getting any better soon.


	13. Chapter 13

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

The week had been cloudy, every day threatening rain and Marybeth's nerves felt raw and exposed. One part of her felt alive for the first time in too long. The other part wished to go, to cut her vacation short, to pull up her whole household and flit home. This afternoon she walked up from the market alone when the clouds thickened, the wind whipped the trees, and the temperature lowered. Then the skies opened up and poured water. Marybeth had brought her umbrella, but it turned inside out at the first gust, and she was soaked through within three minutes. She tried running home, but one can only run so far in stays and she was soon out of breath. She settled for a brisk walk.

As she trudged through the storm she thought she heard her name being called, but couldn't look around to see.

"Mrs. Hamilton!"

Marybeth looked up to see Norman Douglas. She had got as far as his house, and he must have seen her hurrying along and come out to her. However, he didn't pause for conversation. He put an oilskin over her and said, "This way" as he ushered her into his house. He left her dripping in the foyer and hollered for his housekeeper, who came bustling out from the direction of the kitchen.

"Wilson, take Mrs. Hamilton upstairs and get her dried off."

Marybeth protested, "Mr. Douglas, I have to get home."

"Your house is a half a mile up the road. Nobody's getting through this. See how the wind is blowing? You want a tree limb to fall on you?"

"But my children--"

"Are all smart enough to come in from out of the rain, I'm sure. Unlike their mother. Wilson, stop gaping and get Mrs. Hamilton dried off."

Reluctantly Marybeth followed Wilson upstairs and down the hall to the spare room. Wilson rummaged around in an armoire and found a substantial but ugly robe and handed it to her, then went to start a fire in the grate. Marybeth removed her now-bedraggled hat, shoes and stockings, and waited for Wilson to leave so she could hang up all her clothes on the chairs Wilson was setting up in front of the fire.

The robe was too big for her and it trailed the floor. The late Mrs. Douglas must have been a bigger and taller woman than she. Marybeth would have liked to hide in this room until her clothes were dry, but she needed to phone to her family. She fastened the robe from neck to floor, and then unpinned her hair and finger combed the tangles out. Her teeth had started chattering while she was getting undressed. She looked around the room and saw a pretty little quilt on the bed. She grabbed that and pulled it around herself, too, then headed downstairs for the phone.

Wilson was alone in the kitchen, and she looked at Marybeth grumpily.

"I need to call my family."

"Go ahead," Wilson said, jerking her head towards the phone. "But I bet the line's down."

Wilson was right. The line was down. The wind was howling and the rain was pouring, and Marybeth's teeth were still chattering. Wilson did not seem like the type of person one could make conversation with, so Marybeth decided to head back upstairs to the spare room and wait out the storm. As she turned to go, Mr. Douglas appeared in the doorway.

"Wilson, don't you have any gumption? Why didn't you make Mrs. Hamilton sit in the parlor, instead of standing in the middle of the kitchen? Do it right now."

Wilson took Marybeth to the parlor and showed her the sofa. Marybeth arranged the robe and quilt around herself. Her teeth were still chattering, but there was a roaring fire, and best of all, Mr. Douglas was nowhere in sight. She hadn't counted on seeing him again like this, and she felt like she was at a disadvantage. She stared into the fire and tried to warm up. Just as she was drifting into a reverie, she was jolted back to reality by Mr. Douglas handing her a brandy.

"Drink it. You're freezing."

"I can't get through to my family, Mr. Douglas."

"I'm sure they're fine. If they're not home, then they're at the Blythes, or the Manse."

At his mention of the Manse, she took the glass in both hands and drank it half down in one gulp. She started to feel the warmth steal through her and she closed her eyes.

"Not so fast, Mrs. Hamilton, or you won't be able to walk home tonight."

Her eyes flew open.

"Stay here and get warm." He left the room.

Marybeth sipped her brandy and resumed staring into the fire. It was cozy to stay here and warm up and listen to the sound of the storm raging. The brandy was making her drowsy. She could hear some conversation in the kitchen, but it was none of her concern. Mr. Douglas came back to tell her that supper would be ready soon.

"I can't promise it's edible, but it'll keep you from starving."

Marybeth smiled at him.

"Your glass is empty. I'll take it." She handed him the glass and he looked at her peculiarly. "I hear your housekeeper has a new baby girl."

"That's right. I've I haven't been out much."

"That's what I heard. You should hire a girl here to help you."

Marybeth nodded.

They ate supper in front of the fire to Wilson's disgust, who believed that all meals should be served properly at table. The storm continued unabated through the meal, but Marybeth warmed up from the hot food. Mr. Douglas left her in the parlor again after supper to check on something. She heard the sounds of Wilson cleaning the dishes and debated going in and offering to help. Her decision was made for her when Mr. Douglas came back, carrying a box.

"You play chess?" He asked, as he set up the board on a table near the sofa.

"Why yes, but I'm not a very challenging player, I'm afraid," she said, with some surprise.

"Was there something else you wanted to do instead?" He glanced at her as he set up the pieces.

"No."

"I assumed you would prefer this to cards. None of the women around here approve of cards."

"Really, why is that?"

"You tell me. Don't the parsons warn against it?"

"I really don't know, Mr. Douglas. I go to Stella Maris."

"Is that right?" He grinned at her a little wickedly.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm warning you, Mr. Douglas, don't even think about saying something obnoxious."

"Because you might get mad?"

"You know, you can really be insufferable sometimes," Marybeth said, but she forced herself to speak quietly.

"You go first--it's your move," he gestured at the chessboard.

They played a few moves and Marybeth had not lost any pieces yet, but she needed to concentrate on the board. He watched her as she bent over the board, considering her choices. She looked like a young girl with her hair down.

"So, what was your maiden name?" He asked abruptly.

"Brodie."

"Brodie! That's a Scottish name."

"Brodie just so happens to be an Irish name."

"Aha. I knew you had to get your temper from somewhere."

"If you're going to make personal remarks, I could come back with a few observations of my own," she said haughtily.

"I'd like to know exactly what you think of me. I just captured your rook."

Marybeth sighed and turned her attention back to the board.

"How long have you lived in Glen St. Mary's?" she asked him after a few more moves. She wanted to change the subject.

"This farm's been in my family for several generations, now," he said, proudly.

"Have you never been outside the Glen?"

"Why would I? Everything I need is here. I grew up here, I courted here and I married here."

"Hester," she said. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Of course I hear all the gossip."

"I'll just imagine what you heard. Hester was a good woman; she just couldn't see the funny side of things. So, I let her do the fussing and worrying."

Marybeth smiled. That was a little different from the way Miss Cornelia told it.

Then something dawned on her. "Are you letting me win?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Mr. Douglas, I'm not this good a player. You should have beaten me long before now."

"Maybe I am helping you a little. Women generally can't play chess--don't have the mind for it."

"Well stop it this minute! I'm not a child who needs to be coddled," she said indignantly.

"Fine, but I do like you when you're mad," he said, grinning at her. "Check."

"Thank you." She moved her piece.

"Checkmate. You happy now?"

"Thrilled to bits. When is this storm going to let up?" She said, looking towards the window. She jumped, startled, when Mr. Douglas sat down next to her, picked up her hand and kissed it, but she didn't pull her hand away.

"I've missed you, Mary," he said, simply.

"Nobody in the world calls me Mary," she whispered, as he kissed her hand a second time.

"Good."

He leaned towards her then, pushing back the heavy mass of her slightly damp hair. When he was close enough that his lips were nearly brushing her ear, he whispered, "You're not sorry you stayed, are you?"

She couldn't truthfully say she was sorry, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't answer. She closed her eyes as he lightly kissed her neck just below her ear, but she opened them again when she felt him pull away from her. He looked searchingly into her face.

"Blazes, woman," he said quietly. "Your hand is shaking and you look like a frightened deer."

"I'm not frightened," she said, as he caressed her hand.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Then I'll just hold your hand until it stops shaking."

They sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire. Marybeth didn't know what to say to him. She had been afraid, but not of him. She could still feel where he kissed her. The atmosphere in the quiet little parlor seemed nearly explosive, but it seemed that any attempt at conversation would be wrong.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Marybeth, he gave her hand a squeeze, stood up and checked out the window. He came back to the sofa and said, "Storm's over. You get ready while I check on the animals in the barn."

Marybeth stood up also, and said, "Mr. Douglas, I--"

But he shook his head, cutting off her words. "I'll be back in a little while."

Marybeth went upstairs and got dressed, picked up her ruined and still soggy hat, then peered into the mirror. She decided not to pin her hair back up. They wouldn't be running into anybody this late at night. She went downstairs to wait for him. He came back shortly and handed her a shawl.

"Put this around you. It belongs to Wilson--found it hanging by the back door. The night got chilly. The storm hit us badly; tree limbs are down everywhere, so I'm bringing the lantern." He looked at her as she put the shawl around her shoulder and gave her a grin. "You could pass for a gypsy, dressed like that."

She smiled back at him in return.

When he opened the front door, Marybeth was shocked at the amount of damage there was. They would have to clear a path to the front gate, and the ground was a muddy mess. Mr. Douglas took her elbow and said, "Hold on to me, and watch your footing."

It took them a long time to progress. Mr. Douglas had to stop every few feet to toss branches out of their way, and the mud made walking treacherous. She clung to him as they made their slow progress.

At one point the lantern shone full in her face as he took her arm again after clearing another branch.

"Why did you smile?" He asked her.

"I just thought we would look funny if somebody saw us from far away, staggering through the road. Anybody would think we were making our way from the saloon."

When they resumed walking, they heard "Hello! Hello with the lantern!"

They turned to see two people making their way towards them. When they got closer, Marybeth could see Miss Cornelia's husband and Mr. Meredith.

"We were at Carter Flagg's store when this hit," Mr. Elliott explained, after they caught up. "There's less damage up this way than there was down there."

"Do they need help down in the village?" Mr. Douglas asked.

"No," said Mr. Meredith. "They had a little flooding at the Harbor Mouth, but we ran into Gilbert Blythe in town. As far as he knew, there were no deaths or serious injuries."

Marybeth sighed, an unconscious prayer of gratitude.

"Then let's get you home, Mrs. Hamilton, " Mr. Douglas said.

"I don't know where my children were when this started," Marybeth explained. "I'm anxious to know they're all safe."

She met Mr. Meredith's eyes briefly, and she saw he had been thinking the same thing, hoping his children were all okay.

They resumed walking, but with four people in their party, the going was much quicker. Mr. Elliott parted ways with them when he got close to his own house, and Marybeth asked him to thank his wife for the baby dress, which she had sent over.

When they arrived at Marybeth's gate in the little stone wall, she turned to the remaining two men and said, "I'm going to go count everybody. If someone's missing, I'll need to find them." She turned and walked down her little path. Burt must have cleared this part because she didn't have to step over anything.

Dilcey met her at the door. "Everybody's home but Anna, Miz Marybeth, but I think she's at the preacher's house. She was headed over there to play this afternoon."

Marybeth met the men at the gate. "Dilcey thinks Anna is at your house, Mr. Meredith."

Without a further word, the three picked their way towards the Manse, the lantern flickering and making weird shadows. When they arrived at the front door of the Manse, Mr. Meredith invited them to come in while he looked for Anna.

"No, Mr. Meredith, " Marybeth replied. "My shoes are too muddy. I wouldn't think of it."

A few moments later, Mr. Meredith emerged from the house to tell Marybeth he had found Anna in Una's room. "She may as well just stay here tonight, rather than wake her up," he said.

"That's just fine," Marybeth said. "All yours accounted for?"

He nodded.

"I'm glad. Well, just send Anna home tomorrow then. Good night, Mr. Meredith."

Mr. Meredith watched her leaving a moment before shutting his door. She looked very young and half-wild with her hair down and wrapped in that big shawl. Usually Marybeth looked fairly stylish. He liked seeing her tonight, but there was a small trace of another feeling mixed in there, too, something he refused to admit was jealousy. After all, he reasoned, he had nothing to be jealous of. Marybeth was a lady he could talk to about interesting things, and he liked her, but he had no claim on her, and never could have a claim on her. Too many things separated them. However, he couldn't help wishing just a little bit that it was he who was walking her home right now.

Now that she knew her children were safe, Marybeth was succumbing to fatigue. Her steps were slower and she was leaning on Mr. Douglas for support. Neither one had spoken a word to each other since they had left Marybeth' s house for the Manse. At her gate, he took her hand and kissed her chastely on top of her head. "Good night, Mary," he said, then left.

The clock in Marybeth's parlor showed it was nearly 1:30 in the morning, and she started to climb the stairs to her room when Dilcey and Burt emerged from the back of the house.

"Can we talk to you?" Dilcey asked.

"It's really late, Dilcey, can it wait until tomorrow?"

"It's important."

Marybeth sighed and went into the parlor to sit down. When they were all seated, Dilcey said, "It's about Ted."

"Miz Marybeth," Burt said, "I didn't know whether to tell you or not, but Ted told me what happened that night at the shore."

Marybeth braced herself. This would make the third version she heard to date.

"Some of those trashy Harbor Mouth young folks, boys and girls, were at the beach that night. The boys got one of the girls very drunk, and they were trying, well, you know."

Marybeth nodded.

"Our boys, and their friends, got the girl away from them, and Ted walked her home. On the way, it seems, the girl threw herself at him."

This version of the story was square with what she had heard so far. Dilcey took over talking. "It seems that Ted did push her away, but not at first. He was curious, Miz Marybeth, you know how boys are. But he changed his mind and decided that it was wrong to be kissing her when she was so drunk and he didn't even know her. So when he pushed her away, she said some nasty things to him, like there was something wrong with him for not wanting to be with her."

"That's why he came to me," Burt picked up the thread of the story. "I told him there was nothing wrong with him, that he didn't have to prove himself, and he did the gentlemanly thing to not take advantage of her."

Marybeth sighed with relief. The story could have been much worse. Besides, she could understand wanting something one shouldn't have.

"You understand why he didn't want to tell his Ma," Burt said. Marybeth nodded. These were the things men talked of among themselves.

"What about Beau and Wade Jr.? What do they know?" Marybeth asked.

"Don't worry yourself about it, Miz Marybeth," Burt said. "I talked to all three of them."

Marybeth was grateful. It was hard to raise young boys without a father. She was glad they had Burt to talk to.


	14. Chapter 14

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

The storm had done very little real damage, when all was said and done. When everything dried, and the branches had been removed, it was clear that no one had suffered from any major destruction. Marybeth did hire a girl from the Glen to help while Lanie was recovering, a girl named Daisy. Daisy was quiet, but worked hard, and didn't need to be taught much. One morning, close to noon Daisy and Marybeth were hanging laundry on the line outside. Lanie had brought the baby, who was as yet unnamed, outside for an airing, and Lanie lounged with her feet up, baby in her lap and enjoyed the fresh air.

As they hung the wash, Marybeth watched the progress of two people, a young girl and an older man, as they walked up her street. The pair paused at her gate, looking around. Marybeth slipped the second clothespin over the shoulder of the blouse she was hanging, and went to the gate to see what they wanted. As she got closer, she realized that this girl must the infamous Sadie.

Anna had been right about one thing, Sadie definitely looked too old to be friends with her children. Ted was 14, but he was a young 14; they had celebrated his birthday the week before they moved here.

The man spoke as soon as Marybeth got to the gate. "The name's Marsh--Mr. Marsh." He didn't extend his hand, and Marybeth was just as glad. He had the look of a hard drinker, and Marybeth couldn't be sure he was sober now. "This's my girl, Sadie."

Marybeth looked at Sadie and nodded. Sadie tried to look at her defiantly, but she couldn't maintain eye contact for very long. She also seemed to be trying to unobtrusively inch away from her father. She was attractive in a frowsy sort of way, and obviously was in the habit of using her looks to her advantage. Her clothes were shabby but clean, and her hair was done in a fairly close send-up of the latest style.

"Is this where Ted Hamiton lives?" The man asked.

"Why do you want to know?" Marybeth asked.

"Cause he and I have something to settle."

"I'm the head of the family, Mr. Marsh," Marybeth said. "You'll discuss this with me."

"Then why don't we step inside?"

"We'll discuss it here. What do you want?"

"To settle this dalliance between your boy and my Sadie." At this point he noticed Sadie trying to distance herself, and with a suddenness that made Marybeth wince, his hand shot out and grabbed Sadie hard by the arm and yanked her back within reach. Sadie just looked resigned.

"What makes you think," Marybeth asked, "that there was any sort of dalliance between them?"

"She said so."

"Is that right? Sadie, why don't you tell _me_ exactly what happened? " Said Marybeth, crossing her arms and looking at the girl narrowly.

Sadie tried to brazen it out, but she couldn't help blushing and stammering, "Well--you see--it's like--I'm--I'm too embarrassed to say it."

"Maidenly modesty," Mr. Marsh mumbled.

"No doubt," said Marybeth. "So where's your proof? Any eyewitnesses?"

To these questions, Sadie shook her head 'no'. Mr. Marsh shot Sadie a threatening look, but before he said anything, Marybeth jumped in again.

"Are you aware, Mr. Marsh, that my son is only 14?"

At this a glance passed between the father and daughter. The man coughed and cleared his throat. Then he spoke, "Look lady, I'm a reasonable man. You know and I know that if this is ever made public, then it's Sadie's word against the boy's. But I'll make sure she keeps her mouth shut, if you'll give us a little concession. Not much, just enough to get us through the winter. Winters up here are pretty severe..."

Marybeth looked at him, open mouthed, unsure whether to be outraged or horrified. To try to extort money from her, and to sell his daughter's virtue so cheaply! Marybeth took a deep breath and replied, "No. You won't get one red cent out of us. How dare you come here trying to make deals! Get off my property right now, or you'll have more trouble than you know how to handle."

"Who do you think you are, Lady, coming into our town, talking funny and acting so high and mighty! I've got half a mind to get the law on your son."

"Go right ahead and try to get the law involved. I know a whole bunch of lawyers I can call for anytime I want. And don't let me see you around here again. Go!"

At that moment Mr. Marsh looked at the little group over by the clothesline. Besides Daisy, Lanie and the baby, Burt had joined his wife when he heard the commotion by the gate. Mr. Marsh had counted on intimidating a lone woman or a young boy, not to confront another fully-grown man.

"This isn't the end of this, you know," Mr. Marsh mumbled as he dragged Sadie down the street with him. Lanie and Burt, who wanted to know what had happened, joined Marybeth at the gate and she didn't see a look that passed between Sadie and Daisy, a very unfriendly look on both sides.

Marybeth was still infuriated as she resumed hanging laundry, and she mulled over the conversation she had just had. The Marshes had no proof or witnesses, but people jumped on a juicy scandal like this. Ted was too young to have to face such a thing, and so unjustly. There had to be a way to shut the Marshes up and fast. Giving them money was out of the question. Marybeth had spoken truly about knowing a lot of lawyers--her late husband's associates. She decided she would send a telegram to her husband's old practice and ask for advice. Then she remembered. She wasn't in the States. The laws would be different here. A cold chill went through her. What if Mr. Marsh really could set the law on Ted? She would have to talk to him as soon as she saw him. Just as she hoisted one of the laundry baskets on her hip, she saw Miss Cornelia coming across the lawn to her.

"Marybeth, did I just see that shiftless Marsh and his daughter on our street walking towards the village? What in the world do you suppose they wanted up here?"

Miss Cornelia had her days when she believed that she had heard everything in the course of her life and that nothing much could surprise her, but nothing had prepared her for Marybeth's calm reply of, "Miss Cornelia, I think I'm being blackmailed. Could you recommend a good lawyer?"

Later that day, Marybeth waited for Ted to come home. Miss Cornelia had been very helpful in recommending somebody, and Marybeth was going to see him as soon as she had spoken to her son. Of course, Marybeth had had to tell her the entire story, and was surprised that Miss Cornelia had been rather sympathetic towards Ted. Miss Cornelia had a thoroughgoing dislike of Mr. Marsh that outweighed all other considerations.

Marybeth knew that Miss Cornelia would probably tell Anne the story, but she was confident that the story go no further than there.

As soon as Marybeth saw her sons coming home, she ran up to Ted and pulled him aside, bidding the other two to give them some privacy. Rather than turning into the house, she walked with him up the road, away from town. She told him about the visit from Sadie and her father.

"I took up for you, Ted," Marybeth said," but before I see this lawyer, I want to hear from you exactly what happened."

To her surprise, Ted relayed the entire story, simply and without embarrassment, or fear or anger. She knew he was honest and had never known him to tell an untruth. When he was finished, he put his hand on his chin and frowned a little, thinking.

"Mother," he said, slowly, "would you wait a little while before seeing the lawyer?"

"But why?" she asked, genuinely astonished.

"Don't you always tell us that we have to accept responsibility for our own lives and the things we do?"

"Yes, but you just said you didn't do anything."

"I did walk home with her alone. That was my own stupid idea. But I just have a feeling, a hunch."

"I really don't think waiting is a good idea."

"Then Mother, just do this. Give it a couple days before seeking advice? Please?"

Marybeth felt uneasy, but Ted seemed so determined to have his way she gave in, hoping it was the right thing to do.

Later that day, Marybeth and Anne were walking along the shore. They had discussed the entire situation inside and out.

"Doesn't that beat all, Anne? Ted wanting to take charge of the situation?"

"It sounds as if Ted is growing up."

"I'm just afraid he's too young for this. But don't believe for one second, if he gets in over his head, that I won't step in."

"I know that, but maybe it's for the best, for him to try to solve this his way. He wants to learn to be self reliant."

Marybeth sighed.

"It just makes me sick, Anne, blackmail. You and I both know what it is to be poor, but would you ever have stooped to blackmail?"

"I was poor, but never desperate. I don't know. I like to think I wouldn't."

"Maybe you're right, Anne. 'There but for the grace of God go I'. It just makes me so angry because it's my own child. Besides, I did do my share of stealing when I had to eat. Maybe that's what it is. I don't want my children to go down the same road I did, making the same mistakes. I want to shield them from the ugliness of life, and I can't do it all the time."

"I could never bear to think of my children as orphans, bounced from home to home as I was. But I did survive. And his wanting to handle his problem himself shows that he's learning the lessons of responsibility you've taught him. You can be proud of that."


	15. Chapter 15

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

It was a couple anxious days later, after breakfast, when Ted said to Marybeth, "Don't worry about it anymore, Mother. It's all over." Then he left with his brothers before she could ask him for details.

She wanted to call him back to explain everything, but then she decided that if he really wanted to handle it himself, she would have to step aside and not interfere. She sighed and couldn't help clasping her hands together for a moment before she cleared the table and made herself ready for the Ladies Aid quilting party at Miss Cornelia's home. Marybeth had been invited as a guest, and she was nervous at meeting so many of the other ladies of the town all at once. Marybeth cherished her lady friends, but large groups of strange women always made her shrink a little. As an outsider she would be judged and talked about if she did anything wrong. Even if she did everything right she would be judged anyway. But there was no help for it; she had to see this party through.

She chose a mauve dress that was pretty, suitable and inconspicuous; her strand of pearls, and the earrings that matched were the only jewelry she added. She pinned on her one remaining hat; she hadn't been to the milliner's to buy a new one since her other hat was ruined the night of the big storm. She gave herself one rueful glance in the mirror, followed by a good scolding. After all, it was just a quilting bee, not a firing squad.

She arrived right on time, and Miss Cornelia refused her offer of help in the kitchen. Everything was well under control, and Marybeth was forced to mingle with the other guests.

Most of the ladies seemed friendly to talk to and curious about the newcomer in their midst. Marybeth recognized most of the ladies by sight at least, and most of them had seen her when she went into town. Besides, Marybeth was thoroughly trained in the art of making small talk. Still, she was relieved when it came time to start sewing.

Marybeth had been seated next to Miss Cornelia, who planned to sew in between times of checking on the progress of the food in the kitchen, and near Anne. On the other side of Marybeth was a woman named Mrs. Donald Reese. Marybeth quickly learned that all that was required of herself was to listen to Mrs. Reese chatter about her daughter and occasionally murmur "How smart she must be" or "Did she really" while she concentrated on her needlework. So far, it didn't look like too taxing of a day.

The sewing started, the gossip started, and Marybeth listened politely as the stories swirled around her. Some of the stories were funny and some were sad, but Marybeth found herself listening with interest. She recognized some of the family names that were mentioned. The same families had populated Glen St. Mary for generations, and Marybeth kept hearing certain names over and over.

Miss Cornelia had just come from the kitchen and Anne had left the table to attend to something when Marybeth's needle ran out of thread. Marybeth tied it off and was attempting to thread a new needle when a lady who was sitting across from her leaned towards another lady at the table and said quietly and derisively, "Did you hear there's going to be wedding down in Harbor Mouth?"

"You don't say," said the woman's friend.

"Well, my hired girl is next door neighbor to the bride's cousin and back yard neighbor to the groom."

"Go on."

"The bride is Sadie Marsh, and the word is she has to get married and quickly," said the gossiping woman before she lowered her voice to a whisper. "She's _enceinte_."

Marybeth's head was lowered during this exchange because she was trying to thread her needle. Now she found her hands were too clumsy to work a needle and thread. She didn't react, she kept her face carefully blank, but she could feel waves of emotion rushing through her, and knew that the blood had drained from her face.

Miss Cornelia threaded a needle for her and passed it too her, somewhat alarmed at Marybeth's appearance. Marybeth thanked her and Miss Cornelia gave her a sympathetic look.

"Are you quite alright, Mrs. Hamilton?" said the woman who had told the story about Sadie.

Marybeth waved her hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Just a touch of...eye strain," she said weakly before she forced herself to concentrate on the quilt. A look passed between the gossipy woman and her companion--_Southern Belle airs_, no doubt.

Sadie was getting married, and to a boy from her own part of town! Somebody Sadie had taken up with before the Hamiltons had even arrived at Glen St. Mary. The pieces were coming together now. Marybeth thought back to the other day at her gate, when she had demanded proof from Sadie. The girl had obviously counted on her father not knowing something that every woman did know--that it was impossible to determine pregnancy until two missed menses. Sadie had known that if she tried to blame Ted, Marybeth would have proved her wrong on the spot, merely by the date of their acquaintance. When Marybeth had informed them of Ted's age, and they realized that he was too young to marry Sadie and take her off the Marshes' hands, Mr. Marsh had tried to threaten blackmail instead. Marybeth was sick with rage. The whole plan was so sordid and underhanded. She wanted to run away and scream at the top of her lungs just to relieve her feelings, but that would really give the ladies something to talk about. She simply had to pull herself together.

And, she did. The quilts were finished eventually, the meal was gotten through, and Marybeth stayed a few extra minutes after the other women had left to help straighten up and to discuss the situation with Miss Cornelia and Anne before she went to her own home.

In a stroke of luck, Marybeth saw Ted as she was walking home, and she wasted no time on preliminaries.

"How did you know it's all over with Sadie?" She demanded.

"Because she's getting married, Mother. It's all over town."

"Then how in the world did you know this before I did?"

Ted laughed. "Mother, I've met a lot more people around here than you have. One day I happened to hear somebody mention Sadie's name, and some things about her, then I asked a few questions of some people I know, and then everything was clear. Actually, I knew about this two days ago, but it wasn't public knowledge yet, and I wasn't entirely sure. You're not angry, are you?"

"Very angry, yes, but not at you."

"It's really sad, Mother. Everybody in this town knows about that family. The father drinks, they never have enough to eat. She never had any advantages. I kind of feel sorry for her."

"Sorry for her?" Marybeth said blankly.

"Well sure. After all, they didn't have the bringing up we Hamiltons had."

Marybeth didn't know what to say, but that almost sounded like a compliment.

"Yeah, I asked a few people for advice," Ted continued. " Even Mr. Meredith. Did you ever talk to him, Ma?"

"Yes, a few times."

"He's not as day-dreamy as you think, when you get him talking. Anyhow, can I go now? We've got a game started in Rainbow Valley and I don't want to miss it."

"Sure. Go."

When Marybeth arrived at her gate, her new hired girl, Daisy was lying in wait. Without waiting for a by-your-leave, the girl started talking.

"Did you hear that Sadie Marsh is getting married?"

"Yes, Daisy," Marybeth said wearily.

"Good. I used to see her and her intended out walking in the moonlight months ago. Before you folks were here. It's just like her to stir up trouble, so I wanted to set you straight. Anyway, that's all I have to say." With that, she returned to the house to finish cleaning.

Marybeth went in also, sat down in her parlor and closed her eyes. Too many strong emotions in one day drained her of energy. She was sick to death of the whole Sadie drama by now, but there was one thing more she felt like she needed to do because of something Ted had mentioned.

Without bothering to change her clothes or even check herself in the mirror, she went in the kitchen to tell Daisy she was going out, and marched out of her front gate and headed for the Manse. She didn't plan what she was going to say. Her thoughts were too tired and dull to hang on to anything of substance. When she got up to the front door, she quailed a little. She had never been inside the Manse before, and she wondered if it was quite proper for her to visit. Well, why not, she argued with herself. After all, this was a pastoral visit, not a social one. On the other hand, he wasn't her pastor. Marybeth steeled herself and knocked on the door.

She was shown into the parlor by Aunt Martha and in a few minutes Mr. Meredith himself came in to greet her. "Won't you sit down?" He asked, as he closed the parlor door.

"Yes, but I'm only here a moment. I guess you heard that we had some excitement at our house about Ted?"

Mr. Meredith nodded and sat down in a chair near her.

"I just came here to thank you. He said he talked to you and that it was helpful. I appreciate it."

"Of course, I was happy to help. But how are you doing?" He was concerned for her. She looked fatigued.

"I'm just relieved it's all over. But I feel something else, too. I'm so angry that Ted had to go through this. I'm so angry that somebody wanted to slander his reputation. And on the other hand, I really believe that we're supposed to forgive those who have sinned against us, but I just can't."

"Do you want to forgive her?" he asked.

"Well--I guess the good part of me wants to, because I believe in it. But the angry part of me doesn't care one bit. But Ted is already forgiving her and I feel that I should be the one to show the good example. To be completely honest, the thought of forgiveness never even entered my mind until Ted said he felt sorry for her. Then I felt ashamed."

Mr. Meredith thought a moment, trying to formulate his thoughts before speaking, wanting her to understand, feeling a little frustrated. This would be so much easier if she were only a member of his church, with the same philosophy and understanding.

"I realize, Mrs. Hamilton, that we don't believe exactly the same things about the nature of sin and guilt," he said slowly," And furthermore, I am no expert on Catholicism. But I am confident that we agree on one thing; no human being can rely on their own strength to avoid sin, but must rely on the grace that comes from God. If you don't mind my saying it, you're so used to managing your household and fixing your own problems that it becomes easy to assume that you can do anything on your own. But make no mistake; you will have to rely on a greater Strength than your own in order to be able to forgive this sin against your son. Do you understand what I mean?"

Marybeth closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she thought quietly about what he said. "In other words, 'Come to Me all you who labor.'" She looked at him and he nodded approval of her interpretation of the verse. "I've heard that phrase ever since I was a little girl, only sometimes I forget the verse itself, or I forget what it means. Thank you for the reminder," Marybeth heaved herself to her feet. "I appreciate your time, but I'm sure you have other things to attend to, so I'll be going."

As he walked her to the door, he said, "I have noticed, by the way, that mothers tend to be very fierce where their children are concerned. Cecilia could never stand to see our children hurt or mistreated."

"It never ends, does it, the constant caring for your children, the constant guidance, trying to keep them out of trouble, trying to teach them to live virtuous lives."

"That's true, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Thank you again for talking to Ted, and thank you for listening to my troubles, too," she said, as she held out her hand to shake his.

He opened the parlor door, then shook her hand and smiled that shy smile at her, the one that always made her a little weak at the knees. Fatigue and emotion had rendered Marybeth a little raw, and before she thought, she blurted out, "Your children are so lucky to have somebody honorable like you as their father--they're sure to grow up just fine with your example to follow."

Mr. Meredith's mind snapped back to attention. He had already started to drift back to the sermon he was preparing for Sunday when Marybeth made this speech. He looked sharply into her face, and even though her remark hadn't been terribly unusual, something he saw in her sincere expression gave him pause. Something made him feel as if he couldn't let that last remark go unchallenged.

"I can only hope that my example doesn't lead anybody astray, but it's very unwise to hold any human being up for emulation or praise. Nobody is without sin, Mrs. Hamilton," he said, still smiling, but his tone was serious.

"Naturally, but you have a reputation for..."

"Stop right there," he said, and shut the door. Marybeth stood there, puzzled, while Mr. Meredith searched for the right words to say. "Sit down again, please."

Marybeth sat on the nearest chair as Mr. Meredith walked over to the fireplace, wrestling with something he wanted to tell her. Her look of gratitude mixed with admiration as they stood together at the door made him uneasy because of its sincerity. If there had been any hint of flattery in it, he would have simply dismissed her and gone on with his day, but she had been speaking from her heart, and somehow it would have seemed hypocritical of him to allow her to persist in her high opinion of him.

"Mrs. Hamilton, you know that everybody sins--nobody is perfect."

"Right. The just man falls seven times a day. That's in the Bible, Reverend, I don't know chapter and verse, however."

No. She wouldn't. "It's in Proverbs," he said. "All this talk about honor and reputation; anybody in the world is capable of sinning against honor and reputation, Mrs. Hamilton, anybody."

She nodded, not really comprehending, not knowing why he was saying any of this. He looked into her face again. Something about the way she was looking up at him expectantly, trying to follow his train of thought was just simply too much for him to take. Looking around the room, he spied a footstool, and dragged it over in front of her and sat down on it, looking up into her face. She was looking at him with some wonderment. Clasping his hands over his knees, he started talking.

"Never mind about what you've heard about me, or what you think you know about me. I'm telling you, everybody has something inside him or her, some deed, some thought, which they keep hidden, like the dark side of the moon. Something awry in their life. I can give you an example, something I never told anybody else. In the earliest days when I was courting Cecilia, there was another young man who was my rival for her affections. I believed then and I believe now that he was never a serious contender for her affections. However, he was an annoyance, and I wished he would give up and go away. Well, a rumor got started about this young man. A nasty rumor, the type that would not be repeated in polite company. So, you can imagine my surprise when Cecilia and I and a small group of friends were together and somebody brought up the ugly story. My rival wasn't there that night. Now, I happened to know for certain that the rumor had no basis in fact, but when Cecilia heard it, she was shocked. She wondered out loud if it could possibly be true." Mr. Meredith looked up into Marybeth's face. She was hanging on his every word.

"It's hard to admit this, but I wrestled with it. Part of me wanted to see him gone, even though he was not a serious threat to me. The other part of me wanted to do what was right and defend his reputation." Marybeth leaned forward, interested, and Mr. Meredith was now questioning the wisdom of his telling her this. He didn't want to lose her good opinion of himself, but he had to be honest.

"So what did you decide?" she asked.

"I didn't. Before I was done debating with my conscience, somebody else had spoken up in the young man's behalf. The decision was made for me."

"Oh, Mr. Meredith, so you never knew," Marybeth said. Overwrought from the events of the day, not thinking of proprieties, she merely responded to what she saw in his face and reached out for his hands and held them in her lap. "The not-knowing must have been worse than anything for you. For even if you had failed, at least you would have known where your own weakness lies. It's easier to face what we know for certain about ourselves, than the things we only suspect, isn't it?"

The look of understanding in her face was overwhelming him and he suddenly longed to do more than merely hold her hands. He decided he needed to get her out of his parlor and quickly. Gently circling his fingers around hers, he smiled wanly at her. "Now I'm afraid I've taken up too much of _your_ time," he said as he stood up and assisted her to her feet. After she was safely seen out the door, he hurried to his study and shut himself in. He needed to think. He wanted to unburden himself to her, needed to be honest with her, but he didn't realize until now that he also intended to test her. He thought there were two ways she could react. One reaction would have been to despise him for his indecision, in which case he would not have to see her again. The other reaction would have been to jump to the conclusion that he would have done the moral, upright thing if only he had a little more time. Such a pat, simple answer would have made it easier to get over her when she left Glen St. Mary. But she shocked him by cutting right to the part of the story that had bothered him all these years--the ambiguousness of what _might_ have happened.

He had read once about a Spanish mystic who allegedly had the power to read a person's soul. He had dismissed the story when he read it, but when Marybeth answered him the way she had, the story came back to him all of a sudden and it spooked him. However, she wasn't the mystical type.

He almost wished it had been a supernatural occurrence, because he was uncomfortable with the most obvious explanation that was left. She understood him and his mind and the way he thought. Furthermore, something else was clear; her friendship wasn't as "safe" as he had thought.

He didn't put any blame on her--she had never thrown herself at him, never set traps for him. He was very well aware of the types of traps women set. There was no help for it. A young, single minister was considered a desirable catch--he knew it, the ladies of his congregation knew it, his colleagues knew it. In their own ways they tried to remind him of his duty to find a suitable wife. Marybeth was the only one in his life who didn't understand it--she wasn't raised to think that way. Yet without conscious decision or willful action, she had managed to get under his skin. She was the most unsuitable woman in town. But in those times that their paths crossed, something in their spirits seemed to connect despite the very real differences between them, and she held a place in his thoughts that was a little apart from everything else in his world. Not attainable, not permissible and yet there was a real affection between them. He wasn't vain, but neither was it lost on him the way she would blush whenever he smiled at her.

Courting her was out of the question; friendship was increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn't prevent meeting her from time to time; they were neighbors and their children were friends. The only consolation was that summer was halfway over and she would be leaving eventually. However, he realized, that particular consolation didn't make him happy at all.


	16. Chapter 16

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

"Mama, I can't breathe!"

"Very funny, Anna. Let's get you out of this dress. I'll alter it for Jomishie and she can wear it to school when it starts." Marybeth shook her head as she unbuttoned Anna, who had been doing a melodramatic impression of a suffocation victim. "Looks like you're going to need that new dress sooner than I thought." She rechecked Anna's measurements and compared them to her pattern, then sent the girl off to get dressed. Marybeth had spent the morning checking over her children's clothes, making sure everybody was ready for school. Everybody was ready except Anna .

Marybeth and Anna started out walking towards the store. Marybeth would have liked to invite Anne to walk into town with them, but Anne and Gilbert, and Miss Cornelia and her husband were all invited to a wedding, and nobody was at home. It was perfect wedding day weather, sunny and warm, but not too hot. In the distance they could see the wedding guests gathering in the Presbyterian churchyard. Some people were trickling into the church, but many others seemed content to stand outside, chattering and enjoying the sun.

As Marybeth and Anna drew closer to the crowd, Marybeth saw Mr. Meredith by the gate, talking to a young woman dressed within an inch of her life. Marybeth guessed she was the bridesmaid, but whoever she was, it was obvious from her posture and gestures that she had his attention and wouldn't appreciate any intrusion.

Marybeth didn't wish to interrupt his conversation or disturb him at work, and she decided to cross over to the other side of the street, but as she put her hand on Anna's shoulder to guide her, Mr. Meredith saw her and nodded slightly. She couldn't cross now without looking rude, so she approached the pair at the gate.

Mr. Meredith smiled at Marybeth, and the young lady turned to look at her, giving her a rather impertinent stare, part appraisal and part challenge.

Marybeth took a small step back at the sight of that stare and spoke to the lady first. "What a lovely dress, are you the bridesmaid?"

The young woman nodded back at her, trying to act civil in front of Mr. Meredith.

Marybeth was unsure what to say next with the woman staring at her like that, and she fell back on a quote. "'Come haste to the wedding ye friends and ye neighbors, the lovers their bliss can no longer delay'..."

"You know that old song, don't you, Miss Clow?" Mr. Meredith said, careful to include her in the conversation. Looking at Marybeth he responded, "'Forget all your sorrows your cares and your labors, and let every heart beat with rapture today'."

Marybeth laughed and started inching away, nudging Anna as she did so. "I'm just in town to buy some dress fabric. Best wishes to the bride and groom." She breathed a sigh of relief as she and Anna made their escape. It was obvious that Miss Clow was not sorry to see her leave.

When they arrived at the front of Carter Flagg's store, Anna poked her mother. "Ooh, Mama, look."

Tied outside, hitched to a carriage and waiting for its owner was a young, well-muscled horse that nickered and tossed its head when it saw them approach. Anna liked horses, but she hadn't had any opportunity to ride since they came to Glen St. Mary, and the horse they used to drive into Lowbridge was old and in Anna's estimation, not very interesting.

"Very nice," Marybeth said as she opened the door to allow Anna in before her. A noisy conversation inside the store ceased as the bell jingled, and as they stepped inside Carter Flagg and Norman Douglas turned to see who had arrived.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton, how may I help you?" Mr. Flagg asked.

Marybeth looked questioningly at Mr. Douglas, but he told her, "Go ahead." She stepped up to the counter and proceeded to place her order.

"Did you happen to get any of that double pink cotton print we talked about before?"

The requested bolt of fabric was produced, and she smiled her thanks at him. Then she unrolled a length of it to hold up to Anna. "Hold this arm up, sweetie," she instructed her. "So, Anna, what do you think?"

"Good, Mama, it's fine."

As Marybeth folded over the fabric preparatory to cutting, Mr. Douglas burst out, "Let's hear your opinion, Mrs. Hamilton, what do you think about flying machines?"

Marybeth turned to look at him. This must have been what he and Mr. Flagg were discussing when she and her daughter walked in. An easy, innocuous topic, but he asked for her opinion, and he seemed to be teasing her, too.

"I think, Mr. Douglas, that they are very interesting curiosities, and I would like to see one someday. Mr. Flagg, would you have any trim that goes with this fabric?"

The shopkeeper produced some samples, and Anna poured over them, holding them against the fabric, trying to decide.

"A curiosity! Come now--they'll be the next big thing in transportation," Mr. Douglas said, raising his voice.

Marybeth met his eyes, her own expression as innocent as a baby's, and lowered her own voice a notch. "Too impractical," she said, shaking her head. "Nobody wants to lie on their stomach just to go somewhere. Besides, you can't carry anything with you." She turned to her daughter. "You need a hair ribbon to match that fabric."

"What about locomotives, Mrs. Hamilton," Mr. Douglas boomed. "They were impractical when they were first invented, and now they're all over the country."

"That may be," Marybeth lowered her voice another notch, but her gaze never wavered from his. "But I think you're forgetting that a locomotive runs over the ground. There are too many people who believe that flying is unnatural. I don't believe it will ever catch on."

Anna turned away from the hair ribbons to look at her mother. Mama only lowered her voice like that when she was maintaining a stubborn position. She hoped they wouldn't be here all day arguing--she wanted to see her friends.

"What will you say if they do improve them--make them practical? What if flying machines do 'catch on', as you put it? What would you say then?"

Marybeth lowered her voice again, but still loud enough to be clearly heard, "Then we'll have to continue this conversation at that time, won't we?"

Before he could answer that, Anna, with bravery born of the desperation to get out of there, piped up, "Mr. Douglas, is that your horse outside?"

Marybeth stared at her daughter. Anna never spoke to grown-ups unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Yes it is."

"May I pet him?" Anna asked.

"He doesn't bite or rear back, does he?" Marybeth added anxiously.

"No, Mrs. Hamilton, he doesn't bite or rear and you didn't have to ask--I know better than to allow a child near a dangerous animal," he said irritably.

"It's my job to worry about my children."

"Then if you're that worried, I'll walk you both out--we'll go see him together."

Marybeth paid for the fabric and trim, and they went out to see the horse. Anna was feeling proud of herself--at least they were now out of the store and that much closer to home. She patted the horse as her mother watched from the sidewalk until she heard the noises coming from the churchyard. The wedding was letting out.

"Mama?" Anna said, pointing at the church.

"Go ahead, go see the wedding procession."

Anna stepped carefully around the horse, then trotted up the road to try to get a glimpse of the bride. Marybeth was alone with Mr. Douglas for the first time since the night of the storm, and she didn't know what to say to him. To cover her nervousness, she shoved her package at him. "My turn," she said, then she approached the horse calmly, talking quietly to it and giving it a scratch on the withers. The horse turned his head to her, and Marybeth blew gently into his nostrils. He regarded her for a moment before he looked forward again.

"What did you just do?"

"I taught him my scent," she replied.

"You think that works?"

"I know it does. Horses always sniff each other. Besides, that's how my mare learned who I was."

"So you know horses."

Marybeth scratched under the horse's mane. "I rode to hounds in Kentucky. But that was after my husband and I were first married, 21 years ago."

"Twenty one years? That doesn't seem--"

"Oh, it's possible. I married when I was in my teens." She turned to grin at him. "What I won't tell you is exactly how old I was then, because then you'll figure out how old I am now. So what do you call this breed?"

"It's a Canadian Horse."

Marybeth wanted to ask more questions, but at that moment Anna came back.

"Did you see the bride, Anna?"

"Yes. She looked beautiful. But they're all gone now to the wedding supper."

Marybeth looked over the horse's back towards the church. The churchyard was nearly empty.

"Mama, we can go back home now, can't we? It's almost noon, and we need to eat, and..."

"And you want to go play," Marybeth finished for her. "Yes, we can go."

"Why don't you let me drive you home?" Mr. Douglas offered. Anna's eyes blazed as she nodded, encouraging her mother.

"Yes, thank you, if it doesn't put you out any," Marybeth replied.

He helped her into the carriage, then Marybeth held out a hand and pulled Anna in beside her. "Since you're an experienced equestrienne, you should be able to appreciate riding behind a decent horse," he said.

"To be honest, Mr. Douglas, I haven't ridden very often since the babies came. And I've rarely driven."

He shrugged as he slapped the reins. "Driving is the man's job anyway." He looked sideways at her with that same teasing, challenging look he gave her in the store.

"That's not necessarily true," she answered, rising to the bait. "I know some women who are very capable of driving any horse that comes their way."

The ride home was faster than Marybeth was accustomed to. When they arrived at her gate, Anna waved "bye" and jumped down from the carriage before anyone could help her and made a beeline for Rainbow Valley.

Marybeth watched her go before she turned to Mr. Douglas. "He has a nice, smooth gait and he transitions well," she said, gesturing to the horse.

Mr. Douglas acknowledged the compliment to his horse, then asked her, "So, am I to take it that you approve of women's rights?" Referring to their earlier conversation.

"I wouldn't march in a parade for it, but if I ever get the right to vote, you can be sure I'll be voting in every election."

"Come now, do you think a woman is the equal of a man?" He was clearly trying to get a rise out of her.

She looked him in the eye and said quietly, "Absolutely not, Mr. Douglas. We must aim higher than _that_."

That made him laugh and he climbed down from the carriage. Marybeth waited as he came around to her side and he swung her down easily. He walked with her to the gate.

"Do you mean to say that things like superior size or superior strength don't give one an advantage in this world?"

"Not all the time. Don't you know any women around here who are independent and doing well? I myself have managed on my own for the last seven years."

"Come now--" he started, but Marybeth suddenly held up a hand and shook her head. She blinked. Then she blinked again. The third time she blinked, she touched a fingertip to the corner of her eye, shaking her head slightly.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She shook her head abruptly, still dabbing at her eye.

He took her arm. "Let me see." Tilting her face up, he peered into her eyes.

Something perverse in her own nature made her smile and say to him, "I wouldn't know about advantage, but I got you to gaze into my eyes--without using size or strength or logic or even persuasion."

His eyes opened wide a moment, then a change came over his expression that made Marybeth look down suddenly and catch her breath. It was the same expression that she had seen as they sat together in his parlor--still teasing, still challenging, but there was something more to it; invitation.

Taking a deep breath, she sidestepped him and sidled back to the gate. "I have to go and start making dinner. Thank you for bringing me home."

He made no move to follow her as she slipped into her house, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd gotten the better of her somehow. She went into the kitchen to find Daisy preparing dinner with the assistance of Lanie, who was starting to resume some of the household tasks. Dilcey was supervising. Marybeth was not needed to help with dinner, but she didn't particularly wish to be alone. She found her basket of socks that needed darning and brought it into the kitchen where she sat on the battered sofa that stood against the far wall. She half-listened to the conversation of the others and let her own thoughts drift gently through her mind.

Regardless of her original intention when they first arrived at the Glen, she had done a poor job of staying uninvolved in her neighbors' lives. She was involved, all right, not only once, but twice. She thought about John Meredith, with his shy smile and dreamy eyes and a knack for saying exactly the words she needed to hear. She was assured that she had his friendship and it made her glad, but there were times she had seen something more in his eyes and it pained her a little, even though she liked it. Perhaps she couldn't help being sweet on him, but it would have been far, far better if her feelings had remained unrequited. She would have been able to bear it if he had no feelings for her--it would have been perfectly understandable. In fact, she could have even laughed at herself for developing a crush and at her age--but most importantly, nobody else would have to get hurt from this impossible situation.

Then she thought of Norman Douglas with his bluster and candid statements and his deliberate baiting of her. Even when he said things to her that irritated or annoyed her, she did enjoy arguing with him. Then, when his mood would change from one of challenging her to one of beguiling her, it made her dizzy and she felt drawn to him against her better judgment. She couldn't honestly say that she found it unpleasant when he beguiled her. She allowed herself a moment of grim amusement at that last thought. She could think of several women of her recent acquaintance who would think she had taken leave of her senses if they knew she liked the advances of Norman Douglas, but there it stood.

She had the uneasy conviction that she ought to do something about the whole situation, but she wasn't sure where to start. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to have happen. Marybeth finished darning the first sock and put it aside. She decided that when the first opportunity presented itself, that would be the time to act. She hadn't the slightest idea what that action would be, but she consoled herself by reflecting that sometimes it was better not to plan too far ahead.


	17. Chapter 17

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Anna's dress was cut, assembled and sewn. All that was left was to add the trim, and Marybeth had to do that by hand. She took her sewing to Ingleside in the evening to sit on the porch and have a good talk with Anne and Miss Cornelia. They could hear the children's voices ebbing and flowing from Rainbow Valley. First quiet, then noisy, then quiet.

"What game is afoot tonight?" asked Marybeth.

"Hide-and-go-seek, from the sound of it," ventured Anne.

"Rainbow Valley certainly doesn't lack hiding places."

"I got a letter from Leslie Ford today," Anne told Miss Cornelia. "She and Owen and the children are really having a good time in Japan."

"I still maintain Owen could have found enough to write about in Canada," sniffed Miss Cornelia

"Owen Ford," muttered Marybeth. "Why is that name familiar?"

"He's a writer, he's written _The Life-Book of Captain Jim,_" answered Anne.

"We have that book! My boys read it a couple years ago. You know the author?"

"He lived here for a while."

Miss Cornelia chimed in, "And, he got his best material here, too. He just shouldn't have dragged his family off to that heathen country. Who knows what they'll learn there?"

"Did you read it, Miss Cornelia? I didn't think you liked novels."

At this moment, Mr. Meredith walked into the garden.

"I came to talk to the Doctor, Mrs. Blythe," he said.

"He should be home any moment. Won't you sit down?"

He went to sit on the porch steps with Marybeth, and Miss Cornelia continued the conversation. "Yes I did read it. Owen's books are about the only novels I read, and I admit to it because they are good stories. Not like so many novels nowadays--it's simply outrageous what passes for entertainment these days. I know, because I read the reviews. Have you seen some of the novels that have been published in the last few years? Things like _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_, or _Sister Carrie._ All about tainted virtue, fallen women--completely inappropriate for young people to read."

"I read _Tess_, Miss Cornelia," Marybeth interjected, putting her sewing in her lap. "And I thought she should have told her husband about that man from her past, and before they got married, too." Then she shrugged. "Of course, if the story read like that, it would have been only half as long and only half as dramatic." She picked up her sewing and continued working on the trim.

"Good evening, all," Dr. Blythe had returned home. During the commotion while he greeted Anne and while Miss Cornelia's attention was diverted, Marybeth steeled herself, leaned towards Mr. Meredith and murmured quietly, "I couldn't tell my husband, anyway."

"You don't think you could have told him?" Mr. Meredith asked.

"My courage failed me and I _didn't _tell him," she replied, keeping her eyes steadfastly on her work.

Dr. Blythe worked his way over to the porch steps and Mr. Meredith mumbled something to Marybeth as he stood up and went inside the house with the Doctor. She nodded calmly but her heart was pounding.

Later that evening, Mr. Meredith walked homeward with Miss Cornelia and Marybeth. They walked almost silently, the only conversation a desultory one between the two women. Miss Cornelia realized with surprise that Mr. Meredith and Marybeth seemed to have nothing to say to each other. After they left off Miss Cornelia at her gate, they continued walking quietly. The sun was about to dip below the horizon and they were halfway to her house.

"Why did you tell me--that?" He asked in a flat, conversational tone of voice, as if they were discussing the weather.

Marybeth slowed her pace. She thought he wasn't going to speak to her the whole walk home. She told herself that it was okay, she didn't want conversation, it didn't matter. But now he was talking to her, and he wanted to know _why_. Unfortunately, this was the one question she was utterly unprepared to answer. What could she say to him? _I just wanted to give you an opportunity, a reason to stop associating with me_. What had seemed perfectly logical when she sat on Anne's steps now seemed like hubris. She must have merely imagined that he felt anything for her. She felt her cheeks burning and looked away. He really seemed confused as to why she said it. With the knowledge that she couldn't tell him her reasons, she said, keeping her voice as flat and conversational as his, "I understand if you don't think it's fitting for us to associate anymore."

"And you thought it wouldn't be fitting because..."

"You're a public person and I'm not."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"After all, you have your position to consider-"

"My position..."

"People know we're friendly, and they might not think it's quite proper."

"Why wouldn't it be proper for me to be friendly to somebody I see frequently?"

She stopped walking, closed her eyes and sighed raggedly. Why was he being so obtuse, and why was he looking at her so strangely?

"How did you expect me to react?" He asked earnestly and a little heatedly when she didn't answer. "What did you think? That I wouldn't talk to you anymore? That I would sit in judgment of you?"

She opened her eyes and looked past him, standing as if frozen, her face carefully neutral, but she was clutching her sewing basket as if for support. He could see her knuckles had turned white as she held on to the handle.

"Mrs. Hamilton," he said, with some agitation, "We haven't known each other for very long, but still I thought you knew me better than that."

She didn't answer him, and she didn't look at him, either. Somewhat at a loss, he asked, quietly, "Tell me what you want--not what you think other people's opinion might be. What do you want?"

Marybeth answered slowly, choosing her words carefully, "Not to--presume--on your kindness. Not to--cause you any trouble." That was as plain as she could phrase it without embarrassing either of them. To be more explicit would be to acknowledge that there was any feeling between them that crossed the line of friendship, and Marybeth decided she wouldn't be the one to say it.

"You haven't caused me any trouble at all." He replied. Apparently, he wasn't going to acknowledge it either.

She plunged in again. Looking directly into his eyes, she said, as calmly as before, "He found out, you know--my husband. He found out everything--somebody told him. We had been married for several years by that time."

He was looking at her intensely, and she turned and started walking. He caught up with her, but she had stopped talking.

"What happened then?" He asked.

"He forgave me, then went out of his way to never refer to it again," she said, dully.

"Wasn't that good?"

She whirled on him then, looking at him with a strange, mocking expression. "You would have thought so, wouldn't you? Let me reveal something about myself. I hated it. He never talked about it, or brought it up--he continued to treat me with the same kindness he always did, and it was the worst thing he could have done to me. If he had rebuked me, or yelled at me, or even called me a name, just once, I could have borne it. But to have it swept away, just like that, was a form of torture to me."

"You wanted to be punished."

"Yes. So what do you think of me now?"

She was staring at him defiantly, waiting for a response. He shifted from one foot to the other as he weighed his reply, knowing that it was important to her. "I think you have a strong sense of justice--you want to see sin punished and virtue rewarded, and you don't excuse yourself from that rule. You have high ideals, which can lead you to be harsh, especially with yourself. But at the same time, you are compassionate and don't take any enjoyment in watching people suffer, even if they brought it on themselves."

Marybeth turned away and they started walking again. "You've been hearing my troubles ever since the night I saw you on the road after you had been down at the Drews' administering Last Rites."

"Not 'Last Rites', Mrs. Hamilton," he said absently.

But Marybeth wasn't listening. The shadows were lengthening and she shivered slightly. She did try to extricate him from herself. She did try.

"I pray that I would never judge any person as worse than myself," Mr. Meredith murmured absently. Then he looked at her directly. "If I may be so presumptuous, I consider you a friend."

"Then I hope my friendship doesn't cause you to suffer."

They were at her gate now, and she could see his face in the dim light. There was something ironic in his expression.

"Was there ever a friendship in the world that didn't involve some suffering?" He asked dryly.


	18. Chapter 18

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

Saturday dawned humid and surprisingly hot. Baking was out of the question, and the Hamilton household ate on leftovers from the icebox and anything else that didn't need heating up. Even tea was unappealing with the weather being so muggy, and they allowed the fire to burn out in the stove. Houses in this area of the country were built to conserve the warmth from the kitchen and send it through the house. There were no summer kitchens to be found in Glen St. Mary.

They ventured to the beach to find some relief from the heat, but shady spots were few and far between. It seemed like a better idea to head back home--which they did, and spent the day in trying to move as little as possible. Everybody felt dull, and as nobody was in the mood for conversation, the only thing that could be heard was the swish of the women's fans. At least, that was true for the adults--the children went down to Rainbow Valley, where it was always cooler than in the higher elevations, and a little breeze always stirred, even on the heaviest days.

When nightfall came, sleeping in the bedrooms proved impossible, for the walls had absorbed the heat of the day and were now releasing it into the upper story. They pushed the parlor furniture against the walls, and the children placed bedrolls on the floor to sleep.

Marybeth knew she could find no sleep on the parlor couch, and decided that she needed to slip down to Rainbow Valley as soon as her family was slumbering.

Within the hour she was standing knee deep in the pond, her skirts bunched up and kept out of the water with her left hand, swishing her fan with the other. She had rolled her long sleeves up above her elbows and the intense humidity had caused her normally wavy hair to curl tightly, and little tendrils to escape. It was much cooler here than in her house and she thought that this might have been a good night for her boys to camp-out.

"What the devil are you doing in the pond?" She heard a voice holler to her. Somehow it seemed inevitable that Norman would be in the Valley on a night like this.

Without turning her head, she called back to him, "If I close my eyes I can imagine that I'm in New Orleans, what with this weather--and if I had known it could get so hot in Canada, I might have just vacationed in Louisiana and had it done with."

"Are you planning to stay there all night?"

She turned and looked at him a moment, still waving her fan, then waded out of the pond and sat on the grass to quickly pull on her stockings and shoes. He sat down next to her.

"With ankles like yours, it's a shame to wear your skirts so long."

She let that remark pass, but she pulled her legs under her, sitting Indian style and asked him, "What time is it?"

"A little after ten."

"In that case, are you hungry?" From her pocket she drew some cookies wrapped in a napkin and handed him one.

"Do you always carry food with you wherever you go?"

"Of course not. But it was too hot to eat very much today, and I was afraid I might get hungry when I came down here. And I did. It might have been too late to eat when I got back."

"Too late for what?"

"For church. If I ate after midnight, that would break the fast, you see."

"You have to fast?"

"If I want to go to Communion, yes I do. Are you going to eat, or what?"

"I don't know. I'd hate to see you starve."

"Then give it back."

"First, there's something I want to ask you--are you afraid you'll go to Hell if you don't do what the priests tell you?"

She tipped her head to one side and folded her hands in her lap. "I should hope religious observances are less about a place you want to run from and more about Someone you want to run to," she said easily. "But land sakes, if this is how you debate theology, it's no wonder all the old cats say you're headed for perdition."

"And what do you think?" He asked her slyly, tickled at her reference to the 'old cats'.

"The teachings are quite clear, it seems; 'Judge Not', " she replied. "But all the same, I'll be sure to light a candle for you tomorrow."

That made him roar with laughter as they got to their feet. He drew her arm through his and guided her towards the old Bailey House.

"What do you do in the winter when it's too cold to go out?" She asked.

"Read, mostly. There's usually something worthwhile to read about--if you read the right books."

They arrived at the crumbling structure of the Bailey house, and he picked her up and placed her on a section of wall that was flat topped. They were at eye level like this and he took her hand.

"So tell me why you're in such a hurry to leave the Glen."

"You're wrong, Mr. Douglas. I'm here for a few more weeks yet."

"You didn't answer my question, Mary."

She sighed and said, "Well, first of all, I promised my parents we would visit them after we leave here. They're getting up there in years, you know. And, the children need to be enrolled in school--"

"There are schools right here in the Glen," he murmured as he slipped an arm around her waist and lightly touched her face with his other hand.

She tried to keep her tone light. "I have to make sure my farm is still standing--my older boys are taking care of it, you see--and--um---"

He had kissed her temple and was pulling her closer. When he kissed her lightly along her hairline she started to lose the thread of the conversation. She tried to inject some humor. "Anyhow, I'm sure I would quickly wear out my welcome if I stayed too long."

She tried to laugh then, but with a swift motion that made her cling to him for balance, he put his other arm around her waist and whispered something in her ear.

"Norman!" she cried, "Behave yourself."

"You finally called me by my first name, Mary," he said and grinned at her. She looked at him, exasperated, but he took her face in his hands and she read intent in his eyes.

She put her hands around his wrists and cast about for something to say, quickly, but he took her by surprise by asking her, almost as an afterthought, "How many children do you have, anyway?"

She looked down and frowned a little, thinking. Then she looked directly at him and said, "Well, let's start with my oldest--he graduated from Harvard a few years ago, joined the Army and became an officer. He's stationed out west."

Norman looked at her intently for a moment before he said, "I thought you told me you were married 21 years ago. "

"I did."

He was quiet for another moment, then he took a strand of her hair and curled it around his finger. As he lightly stroked her cheek he asked," Well, well, you have a story to tell?

"Not much of a story," she replied, "and nothing very original either. I just got in a heap of trouble when I was a young girl."

"Too flirtatious for your own good--hey?"

Marybeth couldn't help but chuckle with astonishment. "Flirtatious? Not at all. I assure you, Norman; you wouldn't have given me a second glance in those days. I was a terrible hoyden tomboy, fourteen years old and with no other thought in my head than to get into the ball game with the boys and ride horses too fast. My poor Maman tried hard, tried to make me put my hair up, tried to make me act like a lady. She warned me that I was too old to play with the boys, but I didn't listen to her. The things that the other girls found fascinating bored me. I didn't want to knit or sew or learn how to keep house or any of it." She had begun her tale slowly and haltingly, but she quickly gained momentum and now she needed to take a deep breath. It felt as if a dam had burst inside her mind and once she started talking she couldn't stop; didn't _want_ to stop.

"I was headstrong, ignorant and deeply naive and it was a dangerous combination. I really didn't understand what Maman was so worried about. And one day, my best friend and I went up into the hills to shoot rabbits, as we had done many times before, only on that day he didn't have rabbit-hunting on his mind. I didn't fully realize what he--I mean, I didn't know--didn't understand," she sighed in frustration. "I mean until it was too late..." her voice trailed off as she frowned, trying to phrase her meaning delicately.

"I get the general idea. Go on," he said, abruptly. He was sitting next to her now, his arm loosely around her shoulders. He could feel how stiff her body had become, even as her voice remained steady and her gaze was unflinching. But she started swinging her feet, thumping her heels against the wall.

"Well--afterwards--I refused to speak to him again. But in the following weeks I came to the realization that the whole incident couldn't be hidden. So, I lit out. South to Philadelphia, then out West, then eventually to Georgia."

"Running off like that--that was a fool thing to do. Don't you know the kinds of dangers there are for girls alone and unprotected?"

She turned to look at him then. He hadn't meant any irony, but she couldn't resist a tinge of sarcasm as she answered, "Yes I do."

"What happened to the child?"

"Nothing happened to him. I raised him and he grew up."

"But when you met your husband, how did you account for already having a child?"

Marybeth was quiet for so long Norman wondered if she had heard him. Then she spoke, very slowly as if choosing her words carefully.

"I did something very wicked--something of my own choosing. During my drifting days I happened to make a friend. She advised me to give out that I was married but widowed. Then I would stand a better chance of getting a position as a hired girl in a good house. She knew people--she was able to get me fake certificates, she gave me an old ring she had in her possession. It was bad advice, and I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway."

Then she was quiet again for a while. "Naturally, you reap what you sow. The whole nasty business caught up with me--the story gets complicated at this point, but the long and short of it is this. Our paths crossed again and he told my husband the whole story. My husband, in an effort to avenge my honor, called him out. And, my husband was the better shot." There was a trace of grim pride in her voice as she told this last part. Her head was starting to ache and she closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples.

"The truth does make you free. Not necessarily comfortable, but free--there was no more pretending for me. And anyhow, now you know."

He helped her down from the wall and they walked across Rainbow Valley towards her house.

"It's getting cooler. Tomorrow won't be as hot as today was," he said.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Now see here, Mary," he stopped and turned to her. "You put yourself through all that danger--you could have been killed, living on the streets like that-- but you never thought about just telling your mother and father?"

"There would have been a scandal, it would have brought disgrace on my family, my father would have killed Mik. He never liked him very much anyway. Then there would have been problems with the neighbors."

"Why didn't your father like him?"

"Because he wasn't Irish. Father only wanted us girls to associate with Irish boys."

"What was he?"

"Hungarian. But Catholic. That was the only reason Father allowed me to be friends with him at all. But that's not the only reason I didn't tell." She crossed her arms and shivered in the chill. "I was afraid they wouldn't let me keep the baby, and I didn't want my own child to be taken away and placed with people who don't have any more sense than to judge a child by the actions of its mother. 'Foundling' is a bad enough name, but you know as well as I that there are worse names given to children who don't have fathers."

"I still say that wasn't a smart plan."

She shrugged. "It was the only plan I could think of at the time."

Marybeth was tired now, in mind and in body. She had never told anybody what had happened up in the hills that day for the simple reason that nobody ever asked. Most of the people in her life hadn't really wanted to know. Only Norman had the impudence to question her, even half-jokingly as he did.

He took her to the gate at the bottom of her back yard, then he pulled her into his arms to hold her for a long moment before he kissed the top of her head. But when he placed a hand under her chin, tilted her face to his and leaned towards her, she said, firmly, "Norman, don't." He stepped back, giving her a look that seemed to go through her. But she couldn't give him what he wanted. She simply couldn't.


	19. Chapter 19

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read. And legal disclaimers are for the birds. Tweet Tweet.

"There's nothing to do," Jomishie said, swinging her feet against the wall around the cemetery.

"Then we need to think of something to do. Something we haven't done yet," said Nan.

"Like what? We already jumped rope, played hopscotch, played tag, played hide-and-seek..." said Faith

"And we didn't do it in the graveyard, either, so nobody can get mad," added Una.

"I wish the boys would come back," said Mary Vance. "Then we could really get a good game started."

"Nonsense," said Di. "We don't need the boys around to have fun."

Anna shrugged. "I don't know, I agree with Mary. I wish they would come back."

Jomishie shot her a disgusted look. "Boys are icky."

"Of course you think that way. You're just a child. You don't know anything about life," replied Anna haughtily.

"When I'm old enough," said Mary, "I plan to have a whole string of boys following me."

Una mused, with a thoughtful look on her face, "You don't need a whole string--just one who treats you nicely."

"Only 'nicely'? I want to be treated like a queen," said Nan.

"When do you think a girl is old enough for boys?" Wondered Di.

Faith answered, "I don't know, 15 or 16, I guess."

"Mama said I can court when I turn 30," said Anna, "But I think she's just kidding. I'll be to old to be courted when I'm 30."

"I won't be allowed to go to dances, of course, but I will expect flowers--candy and flowers would be very nice," Faith added.

Rilla sighed. The whole conversation bored her. Jomishie's mind had wandered off to pleasant pastures where no boys were allowed.

"Remember when we had that praying contest last week? That was something to do," said Nan.

"It was fine until Wade Jr. had to get up and pray in gibberish," said Mary.

"It was not gibberish, it was Latin!" Exclaimed Anna.

"Well, it sounded like voodoo, and it scared me half to death, especially when you girls did that thing where you hit your chest three times."

"You mean _mea culpa, mea culpa_...?" Asked Jomishie.

"That's it, don't do it again."

"You mean, don't be saying "_Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, et vobis, fratres, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione_..." added Anna glibly, exchanging amused glances with her sister.

"I didn't mind it," said Una, siding with Anna. "I thought it sounded pretty."

Before it could degenerate into an argument, Faith jumped up. "It's prayer meeting night. I almost forgot."

"Well, that's something to do," said Di.

"We'll go too," said Jomishie as she jumped down from the wall. "We'll meet you there?"

The Hamilton sisters walked back to their house, Jomishie looking forward to something different, Anna holding back a little.

Inside the house, Marybeth was in the kitchen with Lanie and Dilcey.

"Won't you tell us the baby's name yet? Just a little hint?" She was asking Lanie.

"Miz Marybeth, everybody'll find out on Sunday when she's baptized," Lanie answered as Dilcey raised her eyes to the ceiling. Lanie's mysteriousness was getting on her nerves.

"Because I need to know what name to put on this bond," Marybeth continued. "It'll mature by the time she's old enough for college, you know."

"Isn't it a bit too early to think about school? Any kind of school?" Lanie laughed.

"Don't you want her to have advantages?" Dilcey asked sharply. "I can't read, and neither can your mother. But you can read _and_ write. What's the matter with you? Don't you want to see _her_ do even better than any of us?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"The time goes faster than you think. It's wise to plan for the future, you know," added Marybeth sagely.

Conversation was interrupted as Anna and Jomishie came in through the front door, clomped up the stairs and back down again in a rush and yelled "Good-by, Mama!" down the hall before dashing out the door again, leaving Marybeth to shake her head.

"That must be what a herd of elephants sounds like on stampede."

The girls trotted down the road towards the church, but Anna was troubled. She stopped Jomishie when they got to the churchyard and said to her, "Do you think we really ought to go?"

Jomishie shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because it's a Protestant prayer service."

"You have anything better to do?"

"No, but maybe we should have asked Mama, first."

"But you can't go and ask her now, by the time you got back, you would be late, and Mama never lets us be late to church."

"Yes, but..."

"And I heard our brothers talking once--they said Mama went to Mass every day when they lived in Atlanta. Can you go to Mass every day here?"

"Of course not," Anna said, frowning. Jomishie was being annoying on purpose.

"Then I don't think she'll mind us going to Mass at the Meredith's church."

"But Jomishie, it's not Mass..."

"You can go back home if you like, I'll manage just fine, thank you." With that, Jomishie put her veil over her head and headed up the walk. Anna sighed, put on her own veil and followed her.

Una was waiting inside the door for them, but the other girls had already found their pews. If she was surprised at the Hamilton girls' head-gear, she didn't show it. After all, everybody in Glen St. Mary knew that Catholics were just--different. They followed Una up the aisle to the pew where Mary Vance was sitting with Miss Cornelia.

Anna, who was older and more worldly-wise, tried to blend in. She followed Una's example and tried to act like her, but Jomishie, who was younger, just behaved the way she always did in church. She walked reverently enough up the aisle, eyes demurely on the floor, but then she proceeded to genuflect and cross herself before sliding into the pew beside the others. However, something seemed wrong to Jomishie--this feeling hit her as soon as she'd walked in the door. Some indefinable something was missing. Something that should have been there. She bit her lip as she tried to figure out what it was.

Undismayed by the lack of kneelers, she simply knelt on the floor to pray, her forehead pressed into the back of the pew ahead of her until Miss Cornelia leaned across, tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to sit. And sit Jomishie did, as she proceeded to dig her rosary out of her pocket, where it had been since their family prayers after dinner, and to silently tell her beads. As she prayed, she tried not to stare at her surroundings. To her young eyes, used to dark stained glass, votive candles and plaster statues, the first impression of the Presbyterian church was not unlike being suddenly thrust into a foreign country. And, that _something_ was missing...but _what_ was missing...?

Miss Cornelia looked at the little girl, then across the aisle at Anne Blythe, who had attended this evening. Anne looked at her only a moment before she looked away, smiling. Miss Cornelia was pretty sure she thought it was funny. After all, the child wasn't behaving badly, just not Presbyterian. She was the absolute picture of childlike Catholic devotion and Miss Cornelia was at a loss what to do with her. She was almost positive Marybeth didn't know she was here. In her rather single-minded opposition to Methodism, Catholicism didn't enter her mind very much at all, but she did know that Catholics generally didn't approve of attending Protestant services of any stripe. So she debated whether or not to send Jomishie and Anna home. But before she could say anything the organ started playing and the congregation stood up. Jomishie stood up too, but she nearly dropped her beads when everybody started singing and stared, amazed at Miss Cornelia, actually singing in church.

When they sat down again, Jomishie sat down and resumed her beads as she listened, fascinated by English being spoken, staring at Mr. Meredith leading the prayers while wearing normal clothes. Then, partway through the sermon, she frowned, gasped, and turned her green eyes to Miss Cornelia before remembering she wasn't supposed to talk.

At the end of the service, when they were outside again, Jomishie tugged Miss Cornelia's sleeve. "You know what was different? Y'all don't use incense." It was the incense that was missing. Jomishie had been unconsciously sniffing for the familiar scent, but it hadn't been there.

Miss Cornelia, who took her theology very seriously, stared at the little girl, shaking her head in some wonderment, "No--incense." She said, weakly. _That_ was the difference she noticed? Anne, who had paused to talk to Miss Cornelia, had to turn away quickly to keep from laughing out loud. It was the type of speech her children were wont to make at that age.


	20. Chapter 20

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

**Thank you to everybody who's reviewed so far--it does help keep me focused.**

Anna and Jomishie sat on Marybeth's bed and watched her get ready to go out for the evening. She was standing in front of the mirror smoothing down the skirt of her claret colored silk dress, really studying her reflection for the first time in many years.

Marybeth liked this dress and she knew it was becoming to her. It had no neck and short sleeves and made her waist look tiny. But she had managed to keep her figure even with her frequent childbearing. She always liked pretty clothes, but she hadn't payed more than superficial attention to her appearance in these last several years. When her husband was alive it had been enough for her to know she was beautiful in his eyes. What any other man's opinion was, she didn't know and could care less. Then of course there were those years when it seemed she was forever expecting a baby or nursing a baby or bustling about with a baby on her hip. Those were the days when she hiked the waist tape of her petticoat higher or lower as circumstances dictated. But she wouldn't have been able to fit into anything like _this_.

"We're going to miss you tonight, Mama," Jomishie said wistfully as Marybeth slipped in her pearl earrings.

"I'll miss you all too, sweetie, but the Blythes were nice enough to invite me to dinner."

"You can wear this in your hair, " Jomishie said and she handed her mother a Queen Anne's Lace she'd picked from the garden.

Marybeth kissed her daughter with a quick "thank you" and tucked it into her hair, securing it with a hairpin. If she looked closely enough she could find the scattered silver threads here and there. If she were so inclined she could pluck them out, but that seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

When she was all ready, she hugged her daughters goodbye and they could smell her lilac sachet. Mama didn't wear scent all the time, but when she did, it was invariably lilac. It was a scent they always associated with Mama.

The girls followed her downstairs and they joined their brothers. Marybeth gave some last minute instructions. "Dinner's on the stove, and there's pie for dessert, take only one slice. You can go down to Rainbow Valley until it's dark. And try not to stay awake too late. Don't forget, tomorrow's Church."

"Mama, this letter came for you, but it got lost, but I found it again," said Beau.

"Who's it from?"

"It doesn't say."

"Just put it on the table in the dining room. I'll look at it later. I don't have time now." With that she kissed her children and left the house.

Marybeth walked down the road, carrying her wrap over her arm for it was still hot, although she knew it would cool down once the sun set. Canadian nights were almost always chilly, even in the summer.

She was all the way to the Ingleside garden gate when she heard her name called. She turned around to see John Meredith hurrying towards her. Anne had told her she invited him also, along with the Elliots. She smiled at him in greeting when he caught her up but there was something tense and expectant about her, as though she were waiting for him to talk first; as though she wanted to hear what he would say.

They exchanged the customary pleasantries before he took a deep breath and said, "I've been thinking that our last conversation didn't go very well. And it wasn't your fault--I take the blame for it," he said.

"Why Mr. Meredith! You didn't say anything to offend me."

"That may be, but my attitude was wrong. I should have been thinking about your welfare rather than trying ferret out your reasons for telling me."

"Don't, please. I said too much that night--you weren't expecting it--you didn't see it coming--how could you have? --I was wrong to drop all that on you--" As she spoke her hand reached out to pick a piece of moss from the pillar of the gate. He recalled seeing her do that once before.

"No, Mrs. Hamilton. I realize now--there's something I need to tell you--to talk to you about--it's only fair, and I should have--"

"Mr. Meredith, Mrs. Hamilton," a voice called. Marybeth didn't need to look to see it was Miss Cornelia and her husband approaching them. Mr. Meredith waved, then looked back down at Marybeth, with a faint look of frustration, but she was smiling up at him with a glint of humor in her eyes.

"Interruptions, interruptions. Nothing but interruptions," Marybeth muttered. "Later, Mr. Meredith, we can talk later."

"Later," he smiled at her, and the familiar flush came into her cheeks, but for the first time since he knew her she held his gaze and didn't look away as she usually did under the circumstances, and his heart gave a thump at the realization.

The Elliots caught up with them at the gate and they entered Ingleside together. There wasn't any further opportunity for private conversation with the minister. By unspoken consent they kept a distance from each other, keeping conversation with each other to a minimum, but Marybeth was acutely aware whenever he looked at her. Whether it was on the veranda as they held polite conversation with their hosts and the other guests, over dinner, or even when they sang around the piano as the sun went down.

Only one time, when she had been obliged to pass him a cup and saucer, their eyes met and she almost dropped it from the look he gave her. She had to look away, quickly. But, she was pretty sure nobody else had noticed it.

However, all pleasant evenings must come to an end, and it was late when they left the Blythe's and walked homeward with the Elliots, decorously enough that even Miss Cornelia could find no fault. After they left the Elliots at their gate, they continued their walk homeward, talking quietly about innocuous, sober subjects until Marybeth, holding her skirt to avoid trailing it in the dirt, sidestepped a small, barely seen obstacle. Mr. Meredith took her arm to steady her, then took her hand. She thrilled to his firm grip, and responded with pressure of her own. He looked down at her then and she smiled up at him from beneath her eyelashes. They continued to walk but he didn't let go of her hand.

At her house, she leaned back against the doorframe and said to him, "I'm going to make some tea. Have a cup with me."

Good sense told him to leave her now, but he looked down at her hand still held in his, then into her eyes and agreed to come in.

Once inside, she turned to him and put a finger to her lips. "Everyone's asleep" she whispered and drew him through the parlor. "Would you please stoke the fire? It's almost going out," she added as she disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen.

She was boiling water on the stove and gathering the tea things on the kitchen table when he joined her.

"Why don't you use the kettle instead of a pot?"

"The kettle would whistle and make a loud noise," she answered, reasonably.

I'm sure nobody would appreciate me making loud noises in the middle of the night."

"The fire's going in the parlor."

Marybeth nodded and turned to the pot. It had a nice rolling boil, and she carefully poured it into the teapot and placed it on the tea tray. Then she picked the tray up and he held the parlor door for her. He sat on the sofa and moved a book that was on the low table in front of it and she and she put the tray down, sat down next to him and proceeded to pour.

He looked at the book. "I didn't know you like Tennyson"

"Some of it. I really like "The Lotos Eaters."

"Ah, the lure of a life without too-strong emotions."

Marybeth laughed. "No longing, no desire. It's the temptation to live in a world of drowsy abstractions rather than in the real world."

"Some people might say that describes me," he replied, dryly.

Marybeth got serious, thinking. "No, I don't think so. I could be wrong, but I always thought the lotos eaters were motivated by the hope to avoid all work and toil. But not you. I do believe you're driven, John Meredith, but by something else altogether."

She turned her head in time to see the embers die out. The room was still lit by the lamps, but she asked him, motioning, "Would you please?"

He got up and went over to the fireplace, poked at the logs and added tinder. Then he looked around for matches.

She got up then, but he waved her back. "I'll find them."

"No you won't. We keep them hidden. It's a habit we fell into ever since the children were very young and never stopped."

She lowered herself gracefully to the floor next to him and reached behind the hearthstone where they kept the matches. She handed them to him then rose to her feet, lightly leaning on his shoulder for support. She went back to the couch to sit down and waited quietly while he restarted the fire. He worked over it until it was a comfortable blaze. Then he joined her on the sofa. The book of poems was in her lap and he picked up the thread of their earlier conversation.

"You mentioned a life without longing or desire. It would be very cold and dead. But there is something I desire from you. If I may?" With that, he reached out for the sprig of Queen Anne's lace she had pinned in her hair. It was too much of a wildflower to really go with her gown, but he thought that somehow it suited her. In trying to remove the flower, he pulled loose half a dozen hairpins and Marybeth could feel her top-heavy hairdo come unraveled. She giggled as her hands flew to her head, hoping to pin her curls back into some semblance of order.

"No, don't pin it," he asked, almost in a whisper. Mesmerized by his eyes, she set to pulling out her hairpins one by one until she was holding them in her hand. "Give them to me," he said, taking them from her and putting the pins and the flower in a little dish on the table behind him. He turned back to her then, and plunged his hands into her hair, drawing the dark, unruly mass forward over her shoulders. She sat as one transfixed as he touched her, unable to look away from his eyes, unable to move.

"Marybeth, you are so--so--" he murmured as he leaned towards her and put a firm hand behind her head, twining his fingers in her hair.

She had sat, scarcely breathing since she handed him the hairpins. Now she leaned towards him, but didn't close her eyes until the last possible moment before she felt his lips gently touch hers. She rested her hands on his chest as she felt his other arm encircle her waist and pull her towards him. Now she was half in his lap and completely in his arms and he was kissing her and she was flooded with a warm, dizzy joy. She had never dared hope for this.

And yet, a quiet little nagging thought came to her and wouldn't let go--_we must enjoy what we have, tonight, because we're going to end up hurting each other badly; with the best intentions, and never meaning to do so, he will hurt me and I will hurt him--sooner than either of us can imagine tonight--we better enjoy each other while we can_...

She pushed away the thought as she reached up to touch his hair. He could smell the delicate scent of her lilac sachet and it was intoxicating to him. Arms around each other, they seemed to have been caught in a little bubble of enchantment where there was no past or future, only the now. And the now consisted of delighting in their closeness, in the feel of each other's embrace. What little talk they engaged in consisted of the now--poetry they liked, snippets of songs, anecdotes from books, and their own personal likes and dislikes in these matters. Because they both knew with absolute certainty as the clock ticked closer to morning, that the tendrils of affection that were binding them together in this night would have to, of necessity, be torn out. And that the rending process would begin the moment John Meredith left the Hamilton home.

All too soon the moment came. Marybeth had her head on John's shoulder when she heard a thump coming from upstairs. It was Wade Jr. He always started the day by jumping out of bed, finding a book then jumping back into bed for a little bit of reading. She and John looked at each other, Marybeth holding a finger to her lips. Then she heard the sound of the boy jumping back into the bed.

"You have to go now, John," she whispered.

They got up, and she helped him put on his jacket. They walked quietly across the room, opened the parlor door noiselessly, then the front door.

The sun was just over the horizon, and everything looked new in the morning light. Marybeth and John looked at each other, abashed, unsure what to say. Then he crushed her in his arms and kissed her fiercely before he put on his hat and left. Marybeth sagged against the doorframe, wanting to watch him until she couldn't see him anymore when she heard a voice behind her.

"Miz Marybeth, are you sparking that preacher?"

She whirled around to see Dilcey giving her a knowing look. Drawing a ragged breath, she said, "'Sparking?' Really, Dilcey, you make it sound so improper."

"What you were just doing didn't look too proper to me." Her eyes flicked over Marybeth's dress, the same one she was wearing the night before.

"Well, what do you think happened, then?" Marybeth demanded.

Dilcey's face softened. "Nothing. Nothing but foolishness, that is, because I know you and I know his type. But, Child, what do you think is going to happen now?"

Marybeth went back into the parlor. She quickly twisted her hair up into a knot and pinned it. She smiled when she saw the Queen Anne's Lace was gone. Then she reached for the tea things to take them to the kitchen. "I think I'm going to get changed, wake the children, then we'll all go to Mass..." She looked up at Dilcey suddenly. "Mass! Oh, no. Dilcey, when we had our tea, it was after midnight. Dilcey, I broke the fast."

Dilcey just looked at her, not knowing whether to hug Marybeth or shake her.


	21. Chapter 21

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

**Thank you to everybody who's reviewed so far--it does help keep me focused.**

"_Dominus Vobiscum_," chanted the priest.

"_Et cum spiritu tuo_," intoned the altar boys in reply.

Marybeth Hamilton stood quietly in the pew at Our Lady Stella Maris and watched as the priest swung the censer, heavy and smoking, on its long chain over the gospel book preparatory to reading it.

Jomishie stood on one side of her, Henry on the other. She always separated them to keep them from poking and teasing each other. The familiar scents of incense, beeswax candles and furniture polish and the muted jingling sound of rosary beads from the other women rarely failed to induce a reverent, prayerful state and she wanted to pray very much, but she was unable to force her thoughts into anything approaching the spiritual realm. The most she was able to achieve this morning was the outward semblance it. And so she stood, gently advancing her rosary between her fingers, the ivory rosary Wade had given to her for a gift after they were married, and her lips moved as she prayed the familiar prayers she'd prayed her whole life.

She felt happy and a bit exhilarated, but she could also feel fatigue starting to creep in at the edges of her consciousness. She pushed back that unwelcome feeling with the strength she had--she still wanted to keep the memory of the previous night untarnished for as long as possible, and she knew that on the heels of fatigue would come anxiety and doubt...

oOoOoOo

John Meredith walked up the aisle to the platform, then turned and stood in front of his congregation. The Bible was already open on the pulpit and he read out loud the passage from Scripture on which he had chosen to preach. There was a strange sense of unreality about the whole procedure, about knowing he had to face his congregation and lead them in prayer. There was no mystery about the source of this feeling and it grieved him that it should be that way because nothing had happened between Marybeth and himself that was scandalous or dishonorable. The wrongness of the previous night hadn't consisted of anything they had done. It consisted of who they were.

Last night hadn't turned out quite as he planned. He had planned to talk to her, admit how he felt about her and explain why he couldn't see her anymore. It would have been awkward, but he believed then and he still believed now that she would have understood and not tried to hold on to him by any means or wiles. Just like she had never tried to lure him in the first place. She had that kind of understanding. Ironically, that was part of her attraction for him.

Then he finally had her alone as they walked home and he was working around to saying all this to her when she stumbled and he took her arm. The quiet peaceful hush of the moonlit evening and consciousness of her nearness weakened his resolve and he had her by the hand and she was not at all reluctant for him to be doing so. It was so like the other times their minds had met in affection and agreement he didn't want to break the spell. He wanted to savor it. Just a little while longer.

He thought over the events of the previous evening. When had it been, what had been his point of no return--the moment that he could no longer stop himself from taking her in his arms? When she had pulled the pins from her hair, letting it hang around her shoulders--at his request? When she had invited him into her house for tea? When they stood together at the Ingleside gate? Or maybe it had been inevitable, maybe the entire summer had simply been leading up to that moment--a different kind of foreordination...

"_Lavabo inter innocentes manus meas et circumdabo altare tum, Domine..._ "

Marybeth sat, hands in her lap, still advancing her beads, watching as the priest washed his fingers before starting the prayers of consecration. Try as she might, her thoughts _would_ drift.

The ride to Lowbridge this morning had started uneventfully enough, although Dilcey had not ceased giving her sidelong glances. Lanie busied herself with the baby and exchanged barely two words with Marybeth all morning. The children had clambered into their usual seats and they started off toward the church.

Marybeth was in the habit of using the ride to church as a time of contemplation, and she had her eyes fixed on her hands folded in her lap. She was lulled by the movement over the bumpy road when Lanie started whistling "Won't You Be My Sweetheart". Lanie was usually quiet when riding to church, and Marybeth looked up suddenly and realized they were passing by the manse. She gave Lanie a sharp look then, and Lanie grinned back at her and winked, unrepentantly, but she couldn't whistle anymore for smiling. Marybeth turned to Dilcey, who was still giving her that same knowing look she had given her all morning. Marybeth mouthed _she knows?_ And Dilcey shrugged, but then Marybeth happened to notice that Burt, who was driving, was struggling to keep a straight face. Putting a hand over her eyes, she muttered to Dilcey, "Does everybody around here know?"

"Know what, Mama?" Jomishie piped up.

"Never mind!" Dilcey and Marybeth answered together and Lanie started laughing.

"Always 'never mind'," complained Henry.

Lanie, between giggles said, "It's just grown folks business, Baby."

"Did you ever notice," said Anna to no one in particular, "That everything they don't want us to know is 'grown folks business'? I can't wait until I grow up."

"I can't wait for you to grow up either," Beau muttered.

"Hey!" Anna replied indignantly as Beau grinned.

"That," Marybeth said sternly, "is enough out of all of you. Do I have to remind you we are going to church? Everybody better settle down this instant and behave or there's going to be trouble."

They all lapsed into silence for the rest of the ride, although Anna stuck her tongue out at Beau first. And Lanie couldn't stop grinning with amusement the whole way...

oOoOoOo

John Meredith had a reputation for being absent minded except when preaching. He always woke up when he was in the business of giving spiritual food to his flock, and this Sunday was no exception. But when he spoke his voice had an added intensity, and there was a look in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Down in her pew, Miss Cornelia, suddenly conscious of a feeling of something seriously out-of-kilter, looked across the aisle and her eyes met Anne's. The questioning look she gave Anne before turning her attention back to Mr. Meredith made Anne's stomach sink.

Something _could_ have happened at the manse, Anne reasoned. Something _could_ have happened in the congregation that she wasn't aware of, but somehow she doubted it. She hadn't wanted to believe it, didn't want to think about it. She fervently hoped she had been mistaken, but she had been aware of an unspoken communication between Marybeth and John Meredith the previous evening. She remembered a look that had passed between them when Marybeth handed the tea to him. It had been as quick as a heartbeat before they both looked away, but something about it had embarrassed Anne, who was clearly not meant to have seen it. She didn't like to be suspicious, but she was sensing disaster.

_Per ipsum, et cum ipso, et in ipso, est tibi Deo Patri omnipotenti, in unitate Spiritus Sancti..._

Marybeth knelt, beads still, elbows resting on the pew in front of her, her forehead pressed in her clasped hands as the priest elevated the host. Her eyes were closed in reverence, but she didn't need to be watching to know what was happening on the altar. Soon it would be time for communion, but not for her, for she had broken the fast. The thought tugged at her heart; she liked to receive. But she had not been paying attention to the time last night; her only thought had been about John.

When at last it was time for communion, Marybeth stayed in the pew with her younger children. Dilcey's eyes met hers as she stood up to approach the rail, but there was no condemnation in them; just concern tinged with sorrow. It pained Dilcey to see Marybeth keep company with a man who was out of reach. She didn't want to see her get hurt...

oOoOoOo

The collection piece was one of the few opportunities John Meredith had to sit down during a service. On this morning he almost wished he didn't have to take any collection, because when he wasn't preaching he was thinking about Marybeth. At least more than he had been. He thought about her as he read from Scriptures and as he preached she was never far from his mind. But now when he wasn't needed to say anything, he found that he couldn't keep the thought of her at bay. He was remembering the way she felt in his arms, her kisses, the things they had whispered to each other during the long hours of the night that seemed to go by too fast.

He couldn't help wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking about. Of course, she would be at her own church. He wondered if she knew that "Stella Maris" was Latin for "Star of the Sea". But he guessed she did--as much as she loved to read, she would probably know the translation of the name of her own church. He wondered what she must think of him now. She hadn't offered him any resistance last night, but perhaps in the light of day she saw the whole incident differently...

"Bridget Priscilla, _Ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti_..."

Lanie's baby was now duly baptized. Mass was over and the church was nearly deserted as Marybeth's household was gathered around the baptismal font. They now could call the baby by name, instead of just calling her "the baby". The mystery was over. But Lanie was always like that--she always enjoyed the bit of drama.

They started filing out of church, although Marybeth paused to light a candle for Wade as was her habit, and to exchange a few words with Fr. Fournier before they left and were headed home again.

When everybody sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast, Marybeth stayed behind in the dining room for a few minutes to look at the letter that Beau reminded her had arrived the day before. The envelope was worn and looked as if it had traveled around the United States a few times before it made its way to Glen St. Mary and there was no return address. She opened it up, read the contents and smiled before she took it into the kitchen to share the news with her family...

oOoOoOo

After church John Meredith shut himself into his study and took down from the bookshelf the Bible where he had placed Marybeth's flower. He'd cast about in his mind for just the right place to put it and had settled on Ecclesiastes chapter three; "...a time to every purpose under heaven."

He read the passage again even though he had it committed to memory for many years. But the verses seemed to take on new meaning as he read. And as always, he found them to be true, even if he hadn't followed its advice. Last night had been the time to speak to her plainly and all good prudence told him that it was the time to refrain from embracing. And yet--he couldn't bring himself to wish away the joy he felt with her.

Everything had changed between them and nothing had changed between them. It was impossible now to go on pretending the way they had been all summer--pretending they were merely friendly acquaintances. He felt like he could never pretend to her about anything again. But regardless of his feelings, the differences that kept them apart were still there and he couldn't keep her, couldn't court her properly. Maybe even now she didn't want to see him again. However in all fairness to her, he needed to talk to her as soon as possible. And so, it was with equal parts longing and dread he left the manse to go visit Marybeth.


	22. Chapter 22

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

Marybeth hurried down the hallway when she heard the knock at her front door. She opened it and was pleased to see John Meredith. She stepped outside, took his hands for just the briefest moment and couldn't resist bouncing on her toes before she let go.

"If you had come just a half hour earlier, I could have invited you to raise a glass with us. Not that we have anything stronger than tea to toast with. But we've just received some news--some good news." She caught her breath and laughed, bouncing again, hands clasped together.

He was caught by surprise at her greeting. When they parted ways this morning, right on this very doorstep, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world, all their attention had been so focused on each other. There was something of sweetness in that memory. But life had a way of pushing on despite the little events of individual people and here she was digging in her apron pocket for something--a letter.

"Come sit down here, in the garden," she mumbled, head down, leading the way as she unfolded the paper in her hand. She sat down in the chair he held for her and waited for him to sit. "My oldest son is in the Army, you see. I haven't heard from him--oh, since February, probably--but it seems he got married in April, and that's not all--this January they're expecting a baby." She put the letter down in her lap and smiled at him, eyes shining. "I'm going to be a grandmother," she laughed.

He looked at her amazed. She was happy and joyful and he was glad for her. But she looked less like a grandmother than anybody he'd ever seen. Even out here in the garden, with the full sunlight falling on her face she looked too young...

She'd never mentioned having any children old enough to be on their own. But from what she'd told him that evening on the porch at Ingleside, it wasn't out of the question. He couldn't help feeling curious about this part of her life she'd never told him about, but at the same time he was reluctant to ask her a lot of questions that might embarrass her. He contented himself with offering his congratulations.

"Thank you," she said, before looking out over the garden, a little smile playing on her lips.

Now that he was seeing and talking to her in person he wondered why he dreaded this meeting. To his relief there had been no awkwardness, no discomfort--her demeanor towards him hadn't changed. Of course he knew he owed it to her to tell her what was on his mind, but his resolve wavered, not wanting anything to intrude on this peaceful interlude. And anyhow, she looked so happy about the addition to her family--make that two new additions; a daughter-in-law and a grandchild. And heaven forgive him, he wanted to prolong this moment with her for just a little while.

They did engage in some pleasant small talk, both of them carefully avoiding referring to their last meeting. But eventually their conversation came to a lull and she sighed and leaned back against the seat cushion, closing her eyes briefly. She could tell from his face he was trying to decide whether to bring up last night. And maybe it was selfish, but she didn't want to hear it. Not yet.

Nonetheless she fought her own quiet battle, with conscience and prudence waging war against yearning and wanting. Finally screwing up her courage she opened her eyes and looked at him. He was looking over the garden but turned to her when he heard her shift.

"John," she said encouragingly, "there's something you want to say?"

_She knows_, he thought, looking into her eyes. _She knows what I need to say to her. She knows and she'll listen patiently_.

Taking a deep breath, he started, "Marybeth, I..."

But at that moment their relative solitude was broken by Jomishie coming around the corner and into the garden with some other children to ask Marybeth a question. Suddenly it seemed like the garden was filled with people milling around. Marybeth spoke to her daughter a few moments, chiding herself silently the whole time that she felt relieved at putting off hearing what John was going to say, at least for a little while.

John Meredith had similar feelings of relief, but it was also getting later and there were things he remembered he needed to do. As the children left to run down to Rainbow Valley, they were alone in the garden again, but he had to leave. Besides, the earlier serious mood was gone and neither of them really wanted to bring it back.

He stood up and she walked with him towards the gate. They were alone in the garden, at least temporarily, and shielded from view by the shrubbery, he looked in her eyes and when he saw what was in them he allowed himself the luxury of touching her face. And as if such a thing were a normal, everyday occurrence she allowed herself the luxury of leaning into his hand, closing her eyes as she did so. He kissed her quickly then and left, giving her one last look of longing. She sighed before turning and going back into the house in search of a book to read. She wasn't really sorry they had been interrupted. The magic that surrounded them from the previous night hadn't entirely faded and maybe she was cowardly, maybe she was foolish, but she didn't really want to let it go, not yet.

It was in this state of mind that she looked at her book, not really seeing it, reading the same paragraph over and over, when she heard somebody enter through her front gate. It was Anne Blythe. Marybeth stood up to greet her, took one look at her face and said, "The kitchen. It's quiet in there."

Anne sat at the table as Marybeth made and poured the tea.

"I had a lovely time last night, and I'm sorry I didn't send a thank-you sooner," Marybeth said. She knew what Anne was wondering, and she wanted to forestall talking about it.

Anne made a deprecating gesture.

"I just got a letter from my Edward," Marybeth continued. "He's married now. I had no idea. But they're going to have a baby this winter."

Marybeth's joy was so obvious Anne could not help feeling happy for her.

"Congratulations," she said. "What's her name--your daughter-in-law?"

"It's a long one," replied Marybeth, grinning. "_He_ calls her 'Josie'. But her full name is Josephina Catalina Elisa Lucita Castillo y Romero."

"I knew a Josie once," Anne mentioned. "But she wasn't Spanish. And I'm afraid she wasn't very nice, either."

Marybeth shook her head in amusement. Then she steeled herself, sat down, and picked up her cup. Leaning towards Anne and lowering her voice, she said, "John kissed me and I let him." She started to bring the cup to her lips, but her hands were trembling so badly that instead she put the cup down and clasped them in her lap. But her eyes never wavered from Anne's.

Anne stared at Marybeth with dismay. She had made that last statement quite coolly, but she couldn't hold a cup without spilling. "But--why? Whatever possessed you? You're not--even a member of our congregation--and he is expected to..." Anne stopped. Even though this was what she guessed at, she had no words for this situation.

"Ministers want and need the same as other men, I daresay," Marybeth said quietly enough, but it was starting to creep in--the anxiety and doubt, just as she knew would happen. This was the feeling she tried to push back when she was at Mass this morning. Sitting up straight, Marybeth squeezed her hands together until they were still. "I know I can't keep him, Anne."

"No, you can't," Anne agreed severely. She remembered that Miss Cornelia had had suspicions all along. "Could you really have seen each other so many times--to strike up such an--'acquaintance' is such an inadequate word right now."

"We were friends, Anne, we saw each other often enough. We exchanged books, had a few conversations." She felt herself flush.

A little helplessly, Anne said, "I don't really believe you were capable of flirting with him heartlessly. You haven't started to care for him, have you?"

Marybeth's eyes went unfocused for a moment, and her face softened. But she picked up her teacup with hands that did not fumble this time and said firmly, "That doesn't matter at all. I can't keep him. And there's something else. Please don't blame him, it wasn't his fault. John Meredith is a good man and a good preacher. And I promise you I won't make trouble for him or your congregation."

Anne believed her; she was too resolute not to believe her, but there was a wistfulness in Marybeth's eyes that made Anne take pity on her. But all the same, she had to ask, "What about Norman Douglas? You had mentioned---"

For this Marybeth had no answer. But she had to put her cup down again as she looked away, blushing hotly...


	23. Chapter 23

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

After Anne left, Marybeth was all alone with her thoughts. The spell seemed to be broken now, her lack of sleep was catching her up, and she was cast back and forth between romantic daydreams about the minister and the doubts and fears about her entanglement with him.

But there was something else--the other thought she had been able to avoid until Anne mentioned it. She knew without any doubt that Anne Blythe would never try to hurt her, but still--when she asked about Norman Douglas she'd poked, as it were, at a sore point. She didn't want to think about Norman right now when she was so tired and full of doubt, but she couldn't escape it. She had been resisting his advances all summer, but not because she felt any dislike towards him. Rather it had been due to her own cautious nature and her desire to avoid becoming too attached to anybody here or to having anybody become attached to her.

But the last time she saw Norman, when she told him things she thought she would never tell another living soul--he listened to her without any sign of disgust or rejection and she'd felt so safe and protected with his arm around her that she fleetingly wondered why she resisted him all those times. And yet, when they stood together at her garden gate and he tried to kiss her, at that moment she felt so open, so exposed, and she was afraid she would break down utterly if she accepted the type of comfort he wanted to give her. She didn't know if he understood that or not, but that was why she refused him.

Then with the suddenness of a whirlwind came her romantic involvement with John Meredith. Despite their intense flirtation over that entire night she somehow never quite believed he would actually try to kiss her. And entranced as always by his smile and gentle demeanour towards her she could no more resist him than a thirsty man could resist a glass of water--even though she knew there could be no happy ending for them because she could never be anything more to him than a momentary diversion. She simply allowed herself to be swept away by the moment. And he knew things about her, too--things she hadn't even shared with her sister-in-law, who was her closest friend.

Of course, the choice was hers to make, and hers alone, but she couldn't help feeling torn. And besides--what kind of woman was she turning into that she could fall into one man's arms despite having feelings of fondness for another? She _should_ have sorted all this out in her own heart before becoming involved with either of them. After all, it wasn't as if she were some dewy eyed twenty-year-old who didn't know her own mind. No, _she_ had to be a dewy eyed forty-year-old who didn't know her own mind and somehow that seemed infinitely more pathetic.

She went to bed almost immediately after supper and prayers that night and sank into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning as her family was sitting at the breakfast table, Marybeth realized that the strange dreamy quality of the day before was quite gone, but in its place was an odd sense of expectancy, as if today was the only day there was and anything could happen in it. And naturally, something did.

She was looking over the table at her children when she noticed Wade Jr. just sitting with his hand around his cup, looking at it with a little frown. His plate was nearly untouched.

"Wade Jr.? Are you okay?" She asked him.

He looked at her, eyes too bright in his face. Shaking his head, he said, "Can't swallow. My throat's sore."

She jumped up and drew him away from the table and into the dining room. His head felt hot and she turned up a lamp to peer into his throat. It was reddened. She sent him upstairs and back to bed. Then she called the doctor and had her other boys move their belongings into the guest room.

She was putting a cool wet cloth over his forehead when Dr. Blythe arrived. Diagnosis was easy enough--tonsillitis. The doctor gave Marybeth the usual advice and left her some aspirin with instructions on how to give it.

Most of that day was spent flitting in and out of the sickroom, applying cold compresses, having Wade Jr. gargle. The boy spent most of the time that his mother wasn't fussing over him sleeping.

John Meredith came to see her late in the afternoon--he had heard Wade Jr. was sick and he wished to offer Marybeth well wishes. She received him in the parlor and they spoke alone for a few moments. He thought she looked strained, but she insisted that she wasn't overly worried--the boy needed rest and recuperation and the illness would take its course.

Before he left he pulled her into his arms and she leaned tiredly and not unhappily against him. He suspected she was more worried than she would admit and he kissed her gently a few times before he left, gratified at the feel of her arms sliding around his neck.

Two more days went by in this fashion. Marybeth spent most of her time in the sick room. Lanie was back in charge of the house. And Wade Jr. didn't seem to be getting worse; although Marybeth wasn't sure he was getting better, either. Dr. Blythe didn't seem worried when he examined him, however, and Marybeth assumed the same attitude he did.

On the third day Wade Jr. complained in an odd sounding voice of headache and Marybeth saw he had some difficulty opening his mouth. She called Dr. Blythe immediately and he confirmed what she suspected--quinsy. The doctor proceeded to lance the area and allow it to drain. After some painkillers, Wade Jr. went to sleep again. There was nothing to do now but watch for any worsening and wait until he was better.

And after the lancing he did improve--Marybeth could see it and the doctor confirmed it. She continued to spend most of her time hovering in and around the sickroom, but she felt a lessening of worry. Actually, she had never admitted to herself that she was worried at all, but now she realized she must have been because now she was feeling calmer.

She also realized the tenor of her life had seemed to change in this past week. The first day after the Blythes' dinner with its unreal quality--when she was torn between her sweet memory and the dread of how it would all end--that feeling was entirely gone.

Instead, it seemed to her as if she were two people. One person was the busy housewife and mother who bustled about the house taking care of her family and running her household. This was even the Marybeth who received John Meredith's visits. For he had continued to visit her every day, but so discreetly that no one outside Laney and Dilcey knew he came to her. And Marybeth agreed that such discretion was prudent, because although neither one of them mentioned it, they both knew that there would be consequences for him if anybody suspected a romantic entanglement between the two of them--and it was simply too hard for them to stay away from each other.

For that was the other person she seemed to become. He would visit and they would talk to each other calmly and soberly enough; he would ask about the boy and they would discuss his progress. But as soon as it happened that they were alone, a wild, reckless mood seemed to come over both of them and they would fall into each others arms with hasty kisses and embraces for the few moments they had. Marybeth never saw him alone in those days more than five minutes at a time, and they no longer talked about the lofty things they used to before the night of the Blythes' dinner-- they didn't wish to waste what little time they had _talking_.

Marybeth guessed that he was feeling something similar to what she was feeling--that their time alone was something apart from the rest of their normal lives. He never hinted about breaking off their association, never had that look anymore that implied he wanted to talk to her about where their liaison was likely to end up. Like her, he seemed to be content to act as if there were no future moment when they would have to settle this once and for all.

During the times when she wasn't in the sick room caring for Wade Jr. or in John's arms she went about her day-to-day routine as best as she could. But all of a sudden she would be startled out of a reverie when somebody tried to talk to her. Then she would be surprised to learn that they had had to repeat themselves. Dilcey was increasingly aggravated with her moony daydreaming and trysting with "that preacher", but Lanie laughed, enjoying vicariously the romance and drama of it all.


	24. Chapter 24

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

The first day Wade Jr. felt well enough that Marybeth was comfortable to leave him she headed out to Ingleside. She wanted to clear her head and in order to do that she needed to leave the house where she had brooded over her child and waited for the few moments she could have alone with John.

Anne was on the porch along with Miss Cornelia, the latter doing her usual needlework. They both nodded cordially to Marybeth as she took a chair.

"Didn't you bring anything to work on?" Asked Miss Cornelia.

"Not today," Marybeth laughed. "I just can't concentrate on anything for long enough to do any good."

"Is your son better?"

"Yes, thank you for asking. He'll be able to go outside tomorrow."

"Well, I'm glad to see you around again," said Anne warmly, although she looked at Marybeth closely.

Conversation among the three women flowed easily, centered on innocuous subjects like the weather and housework, although Marybeth sometimes had the feeling that Miss Cornelia was studying her.

"There's Mr. Meredith," said Miss Cornelia abruptly and she called out and waved to him. He turned at the sound of her voice and entered through the gate.

Marybeth watched him approach, her mouth dry. They hadn't seen each other with other people around in a long time, or at least it seemed that way to her, and it felt like a test. She was glad she didn't bring any work to do--she wasn't sure she could pull herself together enough to pretend to work. Bringing all her self-control to bear, she folded her hands together in her lap and to her relief they weren't shaking. As it was, she needed to concentrate on the effort of acting as if his visit were an ordinary, everyday occurrence. Which in fact, it was.

She was able to return his smile of greeting in a seemly enough fashion although her heart knocked violently in her chest.

"I wanted to ask you," Miss Cornelia said," if we could hold the fall bake sale a couple weeks earlier than last year? Of course, that would mean having it at the beginning of October rather than the end, but there shouldn't be a problem with that, should there?"

Anne watched this interchange uneasily. She and Miss Cornelia both knew the bake sales were held at times chosen by the Ladies' Aid and did not need the approval of the pastor. Did Mr. Meredith know that? Was he aware that he was being tested? For Anne was sure Miss Cornelia was testing him. Marybeth didn't know about their bake sales, either, but it didn't matter if she knew she was being tested. She had promised she wouldn't cause any problems for their congregation, but Anne didn't know how things stood between them right now. She'd been up to the Hamilton house twice in the last week but Marybeth never even hinted at the subject again and Anne was afraid to. She didn't know if they had broken things off, but she devoutly hoped they had. Thank heaven Marybeth was sitting there so calmly. Whatever had come and gone between them, she was acquitting herself well. If Anne didn't know better she would never suspect a thing...

For her part, Marybeth listened politely to the conversation between Miss Cornelia and John Meredith, but she was aware of the attention of both women on her, Miss Cornelia openly, Anne covertly. And she was acutely aware of the minister's presence, in a way she hadn't been before. She listened to the sound of his voice, observed the way he stood, the way he moved his hands, each detail imprinting itself on her brain.

After going over the details of the bake sale, Miss Cornelia detained Mr. Meredith, asking him about this and that problem with the church and he handled himself deftly despite the strain of Marybeth's nearness. Once she had asked him everything she could think of, Miss Cornelia dismissed him politely. He nodded to the three women, giving no more emphasis to Marybeth than was necessary before taking his leave.

When he was out of earshot, Miss Cornelia turned to Anne. "Is he more abstracted than usual lately, Anne dear?"

With difficulty Anne refrained from glancing at Marybeth before giving her opinion that no, he was_ not_.

"What do you think, Marybeth?" Miss Cornelia pressed.

"He looks the same to me." Then Marybeth held Miss Cornelia's gaze calmly, with a little smile, before she looked away. She was afraid to give herself away by saying either too much or too little. She happened to look at Anne, but the other woman's expression was blank. However, Marybeth wasn't fooled. Anne was studying her, of that she was certain.

"Of course, when he marries again, his wife will surely keep him in order and put a stop to all that distractedness," pressed Miss Cornelia.

"That sounds reasonable," Marybeth couldn't help but reply.

"And it's only a matter of time now before one of the young ladies in our congregation catches him. Of course, a minister has to be discreet when he's courting, but you know how the stories fly."

"No, I'm afraid I definitely wouldn't _know_ how the stories fly," Marybeth retorted a little wickedly. "A little out of my experience and all, how a minister chooses a wife. But I'm sure you could enlighten me."

"Why, it would be my pleasure to enlighten you. You see, he'll notice that one or two of the young women of _our_ congregation are available. He'll go calling at her house on some pretext or other, keep company with her under adequate chaperonage then make his choice. Then it will become public knowledge. Finally he'll marry her."

"How interesting," Marybeth murmured demurely.

Anne watched this byplay with growing dread. She knew Miss Cornelia couldn't help herself, but she hoped for better from Marybeth. Yet here she was deliberately baiting the older woman. Anne kept her eyes on her garden because she didn't trust herself to look at either of them. But wild horses couldn't have dragged her from the spot.

"Naturally," Miss Cornelia said, putting her work in her lap and leaning towards Marybeth slightly, "The women he _didn't_ choose will be expected to act with dignity and pretend they didn't care about him at all. You understand--no scenes, no gossipy little feminine comments."

"Of course not," replied Marybeth, leaning slightly towards Miss Cornelia and looking her straight in the eye. "A scene is the last thing anybody would want. But the congregation must surely know that the choice belongs with _him_ and no one else. They must surely realize their minister is smart enough to make the right choice. Of a wife. Or a lover. Hypothetically, of course."

Miss Cornelia picked up her sewing. "A wife is one thing. A lover is another. And not all lovers become wives."

A faint nausea crept over Marybeth. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a killing retort, but then she looked at Anne, who was avoiding her eyes, and suddenly felt ashamed. After all--Miss Cornelia was a good person, even if she had always been suspicious of Marybeth's friendship with Mr. Meredith. She cared about her church, took her religion seriously. Marybeth could understand that. She wished she had never risen to the bait. She had behaved terribly.

Filled with remorse, Marybeth reached out to touch Miss Cornelia's hand. "I'm sorry for being so flippant just now. It was wrong of me--terribly wrong. I don't speak from experience of course, but I can certainly appreciate that for a minister the choice of a wife is of vital importance, to be done with care. Of course, all marriages should be thought out with care, but a minister chooses not only for himself, but also for his church. And I didn't mean to make light of it. I apologize." She looked down then, embarrassed to look at Anne or Miss Cornelia.

Miss Cornelia, stunned and caught by surprise by Marybeth's abrupt change of mood and sincere apology, was rendered speechless at first. Then, looking at the younger woman's lowered head, she shrugged. "I guess the heat gets to all of us. And it's not really a good idea to take to heart every word that's exchanged between neighbors."

Marybeth looked up at Miss Cornelia and smiled, friendship restored.

Anne, anxious to steer the conversation into safer channels, asked, "So Marybeth, have you come to a decision about your house?" She was referring to a conversation she'd had with Marybeth earlier in the week.

"Well, now that I've been living in it all summer, I think it's safe to say it's a good property and a solid, well built home."

"Will you be buying it?"

"I plan to."

"So you'll be back for vacations?"

Marybeth paused. "I honestly don't know."

oOoOoOo

Marybeth went to pick up her mail in town after she left Ingleside, but then she took a different route home--a trail she heard of that wound in between the different farms. As desperately as she had craved people to talk to when she first left her house, she now craved solitude.

She was more shaken than she hoped she showed when Miss Cornelia waved John to join them. Marybeth really didn't have a lot of experience with intrigue and she hoped she hadn't given them away.

She stopped at a secluded spot along the trail, unseen from the road, lined by a split-rail fence. She climbed to the top rail of the fence and looked out over the fields before looking at the letters in her hands. There were quite a few this week--one from her mother, one from her mother-in-law, a few letters for her children from their friends back home, and one from her sister-in-law that made its way from overseas. It was this last one she opened and started to read. It was a fat, newsy letter, full of the latest doings of everybody. Marybeth wondered how her sister-in-law managed to keep abreast of the family gossip when she wasn't even on the same continent. But that was Ella's way...

She was deep into reading when she heard her name called and looked up to see Norman Douglas walking between the rows of crops. He waved and made his way to her. She wasn't able to slip away, so she waited patiently instead, trying to look calm and unconcerned.

When he was close enough to talk to, she said, "I was just reading a letter from my sister-in-law. She and her family have been touring Europe these last couple months."

"Europe! Does she say anything about the Kaiser of Germany?"

"No," Marybeth laughed a little in her surprise. That was pretty much the last thing she expected him to say. "She doesn't pay attention to things like politics." To herself she thought,_ if Ella even knows there is a Kaiser somewhere it's more than I've ever given her credit for._

"Just like you."

"Yes, just like me, but why does it matter?"

"You can't keep your head buried in the sand forever, woman, even down there in the States. I've been following his career with interest and let me tell you he's a dangerous man--maybe the most dangerous man to come out of Europe since Napoleon."

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head.

"Because what he wants is to take over Europe."

"Surely you can't be serious."

"You mark my words," he said, getting louder and slamming his hand down on the fence rail. "He'll set the world on fire. Before he's done you'll see half of Europe dragged into war. He's aching to fight somebody."

"America doesn't get involved in European wars."

He looked at her ironically.

Marybeth suddenly thought about her sons. She had been blessed with many sons but there wasn't one she could afford to lose. A chill went over her at the ideas Norman was presenting her and she pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes.

"I don't deny it's possible--anything is possible. But I don't want to think about it anymore," she murmured.

He peered at her closely. Her sudden pallor was a little alarming. He decided to change the subject.

"Where've you been hiding yourself lately?"

Marybeth opened her eyes. Now they were on more familiar ground, but also more dangerous. There was too much she _couldn't_ say to him.

"My son had tonsillitis," she said, watching his reaction. "Now he's out of danger, but I had to stay close by."

"Will I be seeing you on your nighttime rambles again?"

"I don't know", she replied, trying to speak casually. She couldn't tell him or anybody else the truth about how she was spending her time these days, but she was too nervous to look at him directly. She was seized by the irrational idea that he would be able to see the truth in her eyes. She wanted to take her leave of him and escape.

"Come now, why don't you know, Mary?" He asked playfully. He seemed to think she was being coy with him. But as he talked he moved closer to her until he was looking up into her face, leaning against her knees. Under the hem of her skirt she felt his hand close over her ankle for a moment and slide upward a little, somewhat carelessly.

She should have been offended at his casual handling of her, but to her mortification all she felt was a dizzy, light-minded wonder--as if her powers of thought had been temporarily quenched. But then his eyes locked on hers and she took a sharp intake of breath. This was wrong. She might never belong to John Meredith, but she _was_ trysting with him every day and he hadn't given her any indication that his interest was waning. Nor had she attempted to jilt him. And even though she acknowledged to herself that she was fond of Norman, she had no business here with him. After all, she thought in exasperation, she should at least try to maintain _some_ decorum in her private life.

Because she was furious at herself for not feeling furious at Norman she quickly shifted sideways on the top rail, effectively shaking off his grasp and jumped down onto the ground, keeping the fence between them.

He smiled at her knowingly--for all her obvious agitation she wasn't angry with him--and she couldn't meet his eyes. She was glad he couldn't read her thoughts because she hated to think what his opinion would be about John's involvement with her. Norman had no need for parsons and no reverence for the cloth.

"I have to go home," she said shakily, looking at the ground.

"If you must," he replied, still grinning at her.

oOoOoOoOo

John Meredith was fervently relieved when Miss Cornelia stopped talking and dismissed him from Ingleside. It was the first time he and Marybeth had been together with other people around and it took everything he had in him to appear calm and casual. But her nearness had put a tremendous strain on him. He wanted to look at her, feast his eyes on her, take her in his arms--everything he was forbidden to do because of his ministerial office and her religion. She could sit there, the picture of serenity, and he drew his strength and resolve from her.

But it came to him as he talked to Miss Cornelia--for all his fondness for Marybeth, he didn't like, _couldn't_ like, the situation they were in. It felt sneaky and devious. It was one thing to court discretely, knowing that if he and the woman in question agreed well together it would eventually become public, but this situation could never be public and there was something unpleasant about all this secretiveness. He wanted to live his life openly in front of his neighbors and congregation. There was nothing he could do to reconcile his liaison with Marybeth with his desire for openness and honesty.

He came to see her that evening, discreetly as always.

"It was strange, today, seeing you at Ingleside," he said.

Marybeth only nodded. So much had happened to her that day, so many emotions crowding, one right after the other. They sat quietly together in her parlor, neither of them having much to say. It occurred to him that breaking off with her would have been much easier if Marybeth had been such a one to cry or get angry or try to cling to him. But she merely sat, not peppering him with questions as he absently played with her rings. John felt an almost unbearable tension, not coming from her. It was brought home to him as he talked to Miss Cornelia how foolish it was to try to hold on to Marybeth. It certainly wasn't fair to her to keep going like this, when there could be no satisfying resolution.

"It could only continue to be strange, you know—no hope for it ever to be normal," he continued, with an edge to his voice.

Startled, she looked into his eyes. The moment she had waited for almost since the night of the Blythes' dinner had arrived. He was going to jilt her.

Marybeth had firmly believed she would be ready for his jilting when the time came. She prepared herself for it, steeled herself against it. But now when the moment came she wanted to forestall it, needed to forestall it, just a little while longer...

John looked out the window, gathering his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. He wanted to inflict as little pain as possible on her as he did this necessary thing. He didn't notice her sudden, stealthy movement--for almost without his conscious volition, her arms were around him, her mouth under his, sweetly, softly luring him into forgetfulness. With her there was no past, no future, only the present--and he could forget, temporarily, the troubles of his congregation, his worries for his children, even Cecelia, almost. Good sense and prudence warred once more in his heart against desire and longing--and lost. He sighed as he gave himself one more time over to the sensation of Marybeth...


	25. Chapter 25

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

The next evening Marybeth sat on the lounge chair in her back garden with a book propped open on her lap, but she wasn't reading. It seemed to her that it had been a long time since she could concentrate on the written word. But she snapped back to attention when she saw John Meredith approaching.

He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. He looked at her intensely but his air was sorrowful and he made no move to touch her.

_Steady yourself_, thought Marybeth. _This is it--this is finally it_.

"Yes, John?" She said, keeping her voice even as she closed her book.

He smiled at her, a tight uncomfortable smile, and began without preamble. "I need to talk to you. About a serious matter."

She nodded and clasped her hands in her lap.

He looked down at his own hands. "This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to say. Mrs. Hamilton--Marybeth--what happened--what's been happening. It was all my fault, none of yours. My greatest regret..."

Stunned, Marybeth closed her eyes, wanted to sink into the earth. Regret? Regret was for the things one wished had never happened. Regret was for the things one felt ashamed of doing. Was he ashamed of her? She felt the color drain from her face, but she answered, as evenly as before, "I understand, John. You can go home now."

His head snapped up, "But--"

"Have a good day." She swung her legs over the edge of the chair and looked around quickly. She needed to escape from this hideous predicament, but to where? Not into the house to face Dilcey's pitying, knowing eyes. Not down to Rainbow Valley where she had trysted with Norman. She couldn't go out to the street where people might see her. She didn't want to be seen by anybody until she had time to walk off the waves of sorrow that were already overtaking her. There was only one other choice. Beyond the low stone wall was an overgrown trail that lead heaven-only-knew-where. She stood up and headed calmly for it.

"Where are you going?" He asked her, startled.

"For my evening constitutional." She reached the stone wall, swung herself over it, and paused to look at the trail. It was terribly overgrown, but she refused to head back. She became annoyed when she heard the gravel crunch behind her. He was following her.

"Please, I need to talk to you."

Marybeth pushed ahead. She was shaking now, and her progress was impeded by the shrubbery that dragged at her skirt. "There's nothing to say. You said it quite clearly," she said haughtily as she plucked her hem from a particularly thorny bramble. She heard a thud as he dropped down over the stone wall.

"But I need to explain..."

"Explain what?" She hissed. "That you _regret_ me? How could you say this to me? Even if you thought it privately, did you have to come down here and say right to me that you regret me?" Her forward progress was slow, she didn't even know where the trail would lead, and he insisted on following her.

"Please be reasonable. I can't offer you anything, I can't promise you anything..."

"Saints preserve us, John," she said, stopping and throwing her hands up in a gesture of frustration. "When did I ever ask for anything from you? Or hint around for promises?" She turned and continued down the path.

"I never, ever wanted to hurt you. But you know how it is between us."

"What are you trying to say? Or rather, trying very hard not to say? Because you're the Presbyterian minister and I'm a Catholic? When did we ever _not_ know that?" She looked around her then. The path had lead right to the road. She made an irritated noise and folded her arms over her stomach.

He timidly put a hand on her arm but she shook him off angrily. "Don't. I wouldn't want to tempt you to do something else to _regret_."

Comprehension seemed to dawn on him. "Are you thinking I regretted caring about you? _No_, I only regret that I have nothing to offer you."

"Then you should have just told me you couldn't see me anymore and leave it at that. I would have understood, you know. Besides, I never asked you for anything. Not ever," she repeated. She looked around quickly. There were no wagons, no buggies. She trotted across the road to the field on the other side. Over the hill at the end of the field was the beach, and she just wanted to get away.

"I don't regret you, Marybeth Hamilton!" He yelled after her.

Startled, she whirled around. She never heard him yell before. "Keep your voice down, John. Somebody will hear you."

He crossed the road after her, grabbed her hand and hurried with her down to the beach, to a little section tumbled with boulders.

"Are you crazy? If we're caught together, you'll have to answer for this!"

He took her face in his hands. "I don't want you leaving the Glen thinking I ever regretted you. Do you think this is how I would ever choose to treat a woman I cared about? Sneaking around, snatching stolen moments. If things were only different..."

"But they're _not_." She took his hands and held them in front of her for a moment before she dropped them and turned towards the shoreline, treading gingerly over the little rocks--the footing was unsure. She found a boulder and climbed up on it, staring over the sea. He stood next to her, leaning his arms on the rock and looking up at her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you--I'm sorry you ever thought that I wished you away."

She slumped a little then. She put her face in her hands and said, "Oh, don't say it, John. Just forget about it. Maybe we didn't know what form it would take, but we both knew it would end something like this. Surely you never thought we could get out of this situation without some pain."

"I tried not to think about it. I hoped we could avoid this kind of hurt."

She looked down at him with a wry smile that didn't reach her eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments like this, sadly, ruefully.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe we were predestined to meet?" He asked low.

"Never for a moment," she stated. "You seem to forget who you're talking to. A good Catholic like me doesn't believe in predestination." Then she looked ahead of her with a lopsided smile, clasping her hands on her knee.

"Why did you smile?"

"I was after remembering what Father Quinn--he was my confessor when we lived in Atlanta--told me once--how every choice has consequences--that when you drained every bit of sweetness from the cup you have chosen, it was unworthy to complain when the rest of the cup was bitter..." she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "We had our times of joy and bliss, didn't we?"

He nodded, a little put out at her sly expression.

She shrugged and nodded, looking out over the ocean again.

"You should have been a theologian," he said suddenly.

"Me?" She laughed. "Sure, and if I had been born a man I could have been a Jesuit while I was at it. Actually I thought about turning nun when I was a little girl. But it all goes back to choices, doesn't it? And as bitter as life could be sometimes I had no desire to turn my back on it, give it up, enter a convent. No. I was meant for this life--raising a family."

"Ah, but if you say you were _meant_, isn't that the same as predestination?"

She looked into his eyes, then and choked on a sob. She slid off the boulder, threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. She felt his arms go around her in an instant and remembered where they were. "We're out in the open, John," she whispered as she moved to let him go.

But he held her more tightly, knowing she was right, but not caring. He couldn't let her go when she was crying, and truth to be told, he didn't want to let her go at all.

Nothing like this had ever happened to him before and he had no word to describe it. When he set out to win Cecilia's affections, there was no obstacle between them--he only needed her consent. Courting her had been like carefully tending a rose garden. He never _tried_ to win Marybeth's affections--although he found her willing enough when he was ready. But the feeling between himself and Marybeth had been like stumbling accidentally onto a field of lush wildflowers; something that had sprung forth of its own accord. Cecilia was a reality; he had built an entire life around her, a happy and satisfying life. Because he knew he could never have a life with Marybeth she had slipped into the realm of fantasy for him--and he truly believed he could enjoy and admire her from afar, as a friend. But step-by-step she became a reality to him. The more time he spent with her, the more he learned about her life before the Glen--both her virtues and her faults--the more he found himself wanting the reality as much as he had wanted the fantasy.

"This is the end, isn't it, John," she murmured against his neck.

"_Not_ because I want it to be this way," he said as he took her face in his hands, kissing her lightly.

"But what you're saying is..."

"It will only hurt worse later."

She sighed and he kissed her mouth again. She trembled with the effort of not clinging to him.

"It means we can't see each other alone again," she continued.

"No. Not alone--especially since this is what I think about when we're with other people--"

Through her tears she couldn't help smiling. "Why John Meredith! For how long have you been having such thoughts?"

He pulled her close again. "I think you would be surprised."

She left him shortly thereafter, not wanting to prolong the ache she felt. Luckily none of her children were home yet. She was met at the door by Dilcey, who took one look at her face and lead her upstairs to her bedroom.

"You've jilted that preacher?"

"No, Dilcey, he jilted me."

"You just climb into bed, Lanie and I will take care of things here."

And that's what she did. She undressed and climbed into bed, her heart sore and aching. Reading was impossible and thinking was painful. Lanie and Dilcey both tried to offer their sympathies, but nothing they said helped. When she was finally left alone she rolled over and cried until she slept.


	26. Chapter 26

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

Marybeth expected to hurt. She had cared about John and his sudden absence from her life couldn't possibly go unnoticed. However, she was surprised at the intensity of her sadness.

It was useless to remind herself that she knew it would end this way. Useless to remember that when she went to his arms she had done so with the full knowledge that he was a gift she couldn't keep. She wasn't some wide-eyed young girl with rosy dreams of a joyful future. There was only one way their affair could possibly end--two people with their own separate ties, their own separate lives. He believed as strongly in his church as she believed in hers, and he wasn't a layman who could find a way to work things out or find some compromise they could both live with. There was simply no compromise possible for them--their destinies lay in different directions.

Part of her would have been content to go on as they were until the day she left, but he was right--they had grown so close over the summer that it would hurt worse if they delayed breaking it off, but right now, she didn't care. She found herself foolishly wishing that they could have had more time.

But one thing was certain. Never again would she allow herself to become involved with a minister.

Next, Marybeth tried to be philosophical. Such things were bound to happen in this crazy world. What was it that Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius said? _Nothing can happen to thee, which is not incidental to thee since thou art a man_. Small comfort, but it was better than nothing. Maybe there had been some reason, some purpose that he had been put in her path, at this time of her life. John had even hinted at some purpose for their knowing each other. It was probably true. Marybeth didn't believe in coincidences. She didn't believe in predestination the way he did, but she did believe that nothing happened by chance or without a purpose. Therefore, she reasoned, there was a purpose and meaning behind this sadness. And she offered it up.

"It's over," she told Anne Blythe one afternoon when they were alone, meaning Miss Cornelia was nowhere around to hear.

Anne put her arms around Marybeth, something she had never done before in the years that they were friends. "I'm sorry, Marybeth, I really, really am." Then she held Marybeth out at arms length for a moment.

Marybeth could see that Anne was trying to think of something else to say,

and smiled a little.

"Anne, I would understand completely if you admitted to also being a little relieved."

Anne nodded slowly. "Yes I am relieved. But only because it's _him_. Please don't think I wanted you to get hurt. It just would have been better for both of you if you'd never learned to care for each other in the first place."

It was a careful, conventional thing to say, but Marybeth could sense the sincerity behind Anne's statement. Anne seemed to feel constrained by the circumstances as much as she.

Marybeth and John had decided that they would go their separate ways and would no longer be alone together. Afterward, she really wasn't sure what she had thought she meant by it. Glen St. Mary was such a small town--she would probably _see_ him, maybe run into him socially for they knew some of the same people. Perhaps she would run into him on the street--she really hadn't thought it out. But what happened surprised her.

He did a thorough job of avoiding her. She didn't see him at all, not even on the street. She would have died of shame to be found out--and even flatly denied doing this--but she had taken to watching out her window hoping for a glimpse of him. How he avoided her in a small town like this surpassed her understanding, but he managed to do it. Unless--maybe he'd gone out of town, maybe traded churches for a week--he told her once that ministers sometimes did that. That would have accounted for her not seeing him.

Although she was tempted, she _would_ not ask his children, although she saw them every day. Even if it had been a casual inquiry, she wasn't sure she could keep her own demeanor detached and aloof. And by some perverse twist of fate, even Miss Cornelia never mentioned him. Marybeth was certain that Anne never told the Miss Cornelia what she knew, and she was sure it was only a coincidence, but as she sat with the two other women, she found herself longing to hear some mention of him. But she dared not ask, she didn't even dare lead the conversation close to anything involving church business.

She felt an unreasoning annoyance over his sudden disappearance. She wanted to see how he was bearing up under their separation. She wanted to reassure herself that all the tender emotion hadn't been on her side only. Not that she wanted to see him hurting, either, she hastened to tell herself, but she wanted some sign, some token that he missed her the way she was missing him. On the other hand (terrible thought!) maybe he had forgotten her already. Miss Cornelia would say men were fickle. If that were true, maybe it was better that she didn't see him.

Following on the unwelcome thought that he hadn't cared for her much at all, came a deadening numbness. It didn't matter anymore. She didn't care. His memory had no power to make her sad or, for that matter, feel anything.

She'd had this numbness before in her life, but only for the deepest and most piercing sorrows. But she would have in no case categorized this current disappointment as a piercing sorrow. Death of family members--estrangement from loved ones--loss of reputation--those were the sorrows worth grieving for. Not some romantic disappointment--this loss didn't even come close. But she was younger when those things happened. Maybe getting older did this to you--made things hurt more and not less as the years went by?

And yet, even though it would have been the height of foolishness, she would have liked him to try to seek her out...


	27. Chapter 27

LM Montgomery owns Anne of Green Gables. Margaret Mitchell owns some other characters. I own the characters you don't recognize from any stories you have read.

But then the day dawned that Marybeth realized that all her sorrow and numbness had passed and anger was there in its place. There was no use her telling herself that it was all for the best, that there was no other way out for them. There was no use in reminding herself that she knew from the first how it would end but she had chosen him anyway. John might call it predestination, but that was no part of Marybeth's philosophy. And truth to be told, all her own fine philosophy was gone, too. She was too angry for anything as rational as philosophy.

She was mad, and everything annoyed her. Precisely just who she was mad at she couldn't really say--herself a little, John a little, but mostly she was just mad at life. Realizing the depth of her anger, and not wishing to inflict her mood on anybody else, she avoided everybody as much as she decently could. What little contact she had with people--and only because she couldn't avoid it--she cut as short as possible, and she puttered around the house, not accomplishing much of anything.

In the evening she went outside with the intention of sitting in her back yard to brood. Then when she got there, she decided she didn't want to sit down, either, so she wandered aimlessly, not seeing the plants in front of her and not caring anyway. She stopped once when her musings became too intense and stood and stared through the bushes and trees and her thoughts were not pleasant ones.

Her eyes wandered without seeing until all of a sudden she realized what was in front of her. A Queen Anne's Lace.

"Just a weed," she muttered as she bent down and viciously ripped it out by the roots. Then she noticed there were more. She crouched down and ripped them up, too. She tossed them over the stone wall and sighed. Somehow, the very act of destruction was deeply satisfying. But there were still more that needed to be pulled.

She knelt down then, ripping up Queen Anne's Lace first in one spot then the other. When they were all up and she had sent them all sailing over the wall, she sat back on her heels, disgruntled that there was nothing more to rip up. Then she noticed a rock in the flowerbed that didn't belong. Actually, there were several rocks, and not one of them belonged in her garden. She plucked them up and gathered them into a little pile on the ground, then bounded up to her feet. She took one in her hand and with all her might she lobbed it over the wall and heard a thud as it hit a tree. Now, _that_ felt good. She picked up another and threw it and another and another, and the little pile of rocks got smaller and smaller. Lifting a particularly large and heavy rock, she brushed back a loose tendril of hair that had fallen into her eyes and drew her arm back, ready for another throw when suddenly she heard her name called.

"Mary!"

Startled, she turned her head, lost her balance, overcompensated, and fell backward, sitting down hard in the most undignified fashion. She didn't even try to be nice as she felt a pair of arms around her helping her to her feet.

"Norman Douglas, _must_ you be forever sneaking up on people?" She asked irritably as she shook the dust off her skirt.

"What were you doing throwing rocks like that?"

He looked amused, and she refused to dignify his question with a

response.

"Somebody ought to put a bell on you," she declared in her haughtiest manner.

"I came here to see you," he said, ignoring her rudeness.

"Congratulations. You found me," she said curtly.

But Norman, never a patient man, couldn't ignore that. "What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Not a thing. What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you. Right now."

Marybeth drew herself up and sniffed. "Well, maybe I don't want to be ordered around like that."

He threw his hands up, frustrated. "Nobody's ordering you..."

"Well, it sounded to me like you were trying to _make_ me talk to you."

He took a deep breath, trying not to loose his temper. "I only came up here because I've barely seen you at all recently..."

His tone put her on the defense. "I've been busy--and I _don't_ like having to explain myself."

"You could at least be civil, woman. And your attitude--that isn't what I came here for!"

Marybeth knew he was angry and in a detached sort of way thought that he could probably be quite terrible in his anger. But she herself was beyond caring who was angry with her. Furthermore, something perverse inside her was enjoying baiting him.

"Why did you come here?" she taunted.

"Hanged if I know," he burst out.

"Then leave me alone and stop bossing me."

"Maybe I should just leave altogether and go home."

"Fine. Go."

With a roar, Norman shouted, "That's what I'm doing, by..."

"Hush," she said as she stepped forward with a swift movement and put her hand on his arm. She cocked her head to one side. "They're coming up from Rainbow Valley."

He was still furious, but at her touch he changed his mind about leaving.

"Mary--meet me there tonight."

"What?" She put her hands on her hips. "There you go, bossing me again."

"Confound it, you want to see bossing? Meet me there tonight or I'll come up here after you."

She stared at him. "I do believe you would." After that flash she was simmering down, and the absurdity of the whole fight was beginning to dawn on her. But she was not ready to give in to him that quickly.

At that moment Anna came through the gate, with one arm around Jomishie's shoulder. At the sight of her mother, the younger sister broke away and came running up to Marybeth.

"Mama, I bumped my head," she said, mouth quivering.

Marybeth scooped her up, big girl though she was, and tucked her onto her hip. She kissed the little girl's forehead. Norman was looking at her over the child's head and their eyes met.

"Well?" He asked. "What's your answer?"

Marybeth could hear the sounds of the other children as they came up from the Valley. She felt a moment's frustration to be caught by him like this. She couldn't say out loud what she really thought of his high-handed doings because she didn't doubt that he would argue with her regardless of who was listening.

"Fine. The answer's 'yes'." Then Marybeth turned and walked into her house, still carrying Jomishie.

xXxXxXx

He found her later that night standing on the bank of the pond looking out over the water. She had thrown a shawl loosely around her shoulders because the air was a bit nippy. Before he could say anything, she spoke first.

"Listen, Norman. I just discovered this--listen to how sound carries across the water here." She cleared her throat and took a breath:

"Farewell to old England forever

Farewell to my rum culls as well

Farewell to the well known old Bailey

Where I once used to cut such a swell..."

"That sounds like an old sea chanty," Norman remarked as they walked towards the grassy glade at the bank of the brook. Marybeth replied, "It's not--it's Australian--it's called 'Botany Bay'. Oh, don't look at me like that. What did you expect me to be singing, 'Dixieland'?"

"Or 'Molly Malone', with you being Irish and all."

"Don't be ridiculous--'Molly Malone' is about a woman from Dublin. My father's family came from Galway. Not that much of my family is left in Ireland anymore. The Brodies mostly emigrated to the US, although I do remember hearing some of our Cleary cousins emigrated to the Antipodes..."

She knew she was rambling in an attempt to avoid saying something she didn't want to say. But she couldn't put it off forever. She stopped abruptly and shook her head as if to clear it.

"I'm afraid you caught me in a bad mood earlier." She held out her hand in a gesture of appeasement. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

He took her hand and placed it over his heart.

Embarrassed by this oddly intimate gesture she pulled back her hand and turned away.

"Durn it all--I knew you'd do that."

"Do what?"

"Yank your hand back like you'd burned it on the stove."

"How you do run on."

"No, confound it, I'm not running on," he insisted heatedly, so that she turned back to look at him. "You've been doing this all summer. First you act as if you welcome my attentions, then the instant I touch you act like a flustered schoolgirl."

"I do not. I just--I just..." She wavered under the piercing look he gave her.

"Why did you come here tonight?" He demanded.

She was taken aback by the question. "You said if I didn't come willingly you would come get me anyway."

He struck out sideways, impatiently. "How long have we known each other?"

"The whole summer, I suppose. Almost as long as I've been here."

"You've held me at arms length for that whole time."

She blushed as she thought back to some of their earlier meetings, but she tried to speak lightly, "I'd hardly call it arm's length..."

"What do you want, Mary? What do you want from me?"

She put her hands over her face. She really didn't know and his intensity was a little frightening.

"Have you been toying with me?" He persisted.

The question hurt her. She never meant to toy with him. It probably looked like that to him, but it wasn't on purpose. She looked at him and shook her head _no_.

"Then am I to believe you don't know your own mind?"

She laughed abruptly, a laughter tinged with hysteria. "Yes, it's true. Although I don't expect you to believe me."

He looked at her sharply. "You're wrong. I do believe you." He crossed his arms. "But tonight there's going to be an end to it. You have to decide."

"Decide...?" She asked a little fearfully.

"You have to decide what you want from me."

"Oh, Norman," she whispered.

"Never mind those tragedy airs. My intentions have been clear from the very beginning. And now I want an answer."

Stung and a little angry, Marybeth crossed her arms, unconsciously imitating his gesture. "What if I disagree with you, Norman? Maybe I don't want to do things this way. What if I decide _not_ to choose? Then what?"

"Then I'll leave you alone and not bother you again." As if to emphasize his point, he ducked under a branch of the Tree Lovers, putting some distance between them.

"Are you saying you wouldn't be my friend anymore?" The idea made her more than a little sad.

"Mary, you're not a child, but sometimes you talk like one. You should have figured out by now that mere friendship would be impossible between us."

She was shocked at this rather blunt speech.

"That sounds rather presumptuous," she said indignantly. "Besides--besides--well--it's not that simple."

"Why? What's not simple about you and me?" He demanded.

"All right, you want to know? Fine. Norman, I'm leaving in two weeks."

"I know."

"I might not be coming back again."

He shrugged.

"Are you willing to accept that?"

"I've always known you were just here on vacation."

"It's easy for you to say that now, but," she clasped her hands together. "Maybe it won't be that easy to say goodbye--later."

"Don't worry about how I'll feel--that's my problem to worry about."

"No," she looked down and her voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't understand. Maybe _I_ won't find it that easy."

She heard a rustle and looked up. He had moved closer to her, but the mapleside branch of the Tree Lovers was still between them and he rested his hand on it. He was peering at her intently and she knew she had his full attention on her every word and motion. But he didn't speak as she stood there trying to sort out her feelings.

"Why are you _doing_ this to me?" She cried out in frustration.

"Oh no, Mary. You won't get out of it that easily. Or by pretending that you've felt nothing this whole time. That first night I saw you--I told you I come down here sometimes in the night. Have you asked yourself why _you've_ come back down here, time after time, when you know I might be here...Or do you come back _because_ you know I might be here?" His voice was beguiling, insinuating. She felt that lightminded dizziness--the same thing she had felt that afternoon at the fence--creep over her as he spoke. "If you like to wander late at night, why do you come back here? Why not to the shore? Or up the main road out of town?"

It was true. He was right. She did hope to see him all those times. Whether he exasperated her or beguiled her, she wanted to see him. She ducked under the branch where Norman rested his hand, brushing him lightly as she did. He couldn't help looking at her appreciatively, and he also couldn't resist taunting her a bit. "Aren't you afraid to be here alone--with me?"

A tremor went through her at his words. She had never been afraid of Norman, but of the feelings he evoked in her. His volatile and unpredictable nature kept her on alert, made her feel alive. And now she couldn't put off the inevitable anymore, didn't _want_ to put it off.

Despite his resolution to himself not to touch her until he heard the answer from her mouth, he leaned forward and murmured into her hair, "Have you decided then? What do you want? Tell me."

Rising up on tiptoe, she linked her hands behind his neck. Her face was only inches from his and she was gratified by the look of surprise in his eyes.

She paused. "_Carpe Diem_?" She said, barely above a whisper as she swayed towards him.

There was only one answer she expected him to give to such an invitation and he didn't disappoint her.


End file.
